If Nothing Else
by Harley McCoy
Summary: Quinn is forced to face her past self as she tries to help Daria.
1. Chapter 1

July 23, 2010

**Summary: **Quinn is forced to face her past self as she tries to help Daria.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Daria or anything affiliated, just the idea.

If Nothing Else

Chapter 1: Happy Graduation

Suctioned off her face, the thick, black framed glasses toppled and rattled from the front windshield to the dashboard. Her head ricochets off the airbag, bouncing off the head rest, her forehead dodging right before reverberating into the left side of the car. Her consciousness to the world around her shutters off like a camera. The piercing cry of a gentleman her swan song, as Daria blacks out.

-Daria-

"My God, I can't believe Mary would wear her hair up, most definitely showing her plump-like face," Sandi Griffin, drowned on. Standing several people ahead of Quinn, gave the former Fashion Club President some satisfaction, despite having to turn to observe any facial reaction expressed by Quinn.

"Well, it is rather hot out, Sandi," Quinn half heartedly defended. Meekly, the red head tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before quickly searching the crowd. _Well, graduation hasn't quite started. I'm sure they're somewhere._ Though, Daria was a person almost impossible to miss in a crowd.

"Yeah," Tiffany added, filing her nails. Sandi and Quinn glanced at Tiffany before exchanging friendly glares, unsure who Tiffany supported.

Stacy approached, red faced from running and weaving in between pairs of students waiting to walk. "Guys, guys, Quinn – tell me again, which foot do we start off again with? The left or right?" Her voice growing to sheer panic and horror that their principal, Ms. Li, would spot her out of the hundred or so students graduating that day to scold her and that she, Stacy Rowe, former Fashion Club Secretary, would embarrass the debunked club. Quinn rolled her eyes. _My God, when is this going to be over? God, _she mentally groaned, _when will it start so it can be over?_

-Daria-

"Let's go, Jake," Helen Morgendorffer commanded of her husband. Walking as if entering a courtroom, she hopped onto the side walk that led to the football field. A synonymous ring from Helen's purse slowed her. Approaching the corner of the building in which the field lay waiting with their youngest daughter's gradation, Helen halted.

Jake rolled his eyes, knowing very well Eric, Helen's boss, was calling to talk about some "big" case he needed her immediate assistance on. "Can't this wait, honey?" he pled. He was so proud of Quinn, not to say he wasn't before . . . but, he was more proud to see she had become more open in the last year, venturing to look past the self-centeredness and superficiality and see that there was more to do on a Saturday night, or any night, than max out her father's credit cards. He was damn near close to making a sign, but Daria said that waving a big old sign that shouted "Go Quinn!" may be an embarrassment. Daria also made other comments, however they were lost in transmission as Jake soon slipped into a tirade about how his father hadn't attended his graduation from military school.

Almost falling because of a crack in the sidewalk, something unacceptable with the high school tax, infuriated Jake."How can a school that tries to bleed you dry can't have enough money to pave new sidewalks? Damn money hungry school! Damn Dad!" Whereabouts Helen would interrupt, it was the routine often demonstrated at the Morgendorffer home in which Jake found himself stopping because of the sheer fact the routine was not . . . en route? "Helen?"

Helen had been oblivious to the entire episode, "uh-huh-ing" like a mindless zombie. "No, no, I – we'll, my husband and I will be right over. Uh-huh, Cedars of Lawndale, yes, yes."

Helen hung up, her peach skinned face draining of color into her quivering hands. Jake swallowed hard, acutely sensitive to any shift in mood, he waited. "Daria was in a horrible car accident on Thompson Ave," Helen spoke, her voice hollow. The gears in Helen's mind turned at a rate uncommon to when she is working a big case. _Quinn's graduation started already. I can't drag her out. It's her big day and the doctors aren't going to know what to do yet, so why worry her? We need to get to the medical center, though. Jane! _Turning to her already panicked husband, looking like a kicked puppy, she gathered herself. "Let's go, we'll call Jane, have her get Quinn."

"Why? We're here already," he questioned.

"This is still her day, Jake," Helen reminded him, making haste back to the car.

-Daria-

Quinn craned her neck, scanning the crowd. "Of course, leave it up to my parents and Daria to be late to my graduation. Geez!" She rolled her eyes disgusted.

"What Quinn?" Stacy asked, swaying to see Quinn through the other students as she had returned to her post.

"Nothing . . . My parents are late. For this, they will need to expand my car budget," she smirked, crossing her arms. Having invested her senior year in doing better in school delegated her advantages of better hustling her parents fiscally.

"Oh, you know what's cute, a Chevy sports car," Stacy squealed, attaining some glares.

"I think a convertible would be better," Tiffany drawled, "A red one."

"Yeah, but then you have to think about your hair," Quinn posed.

"Yes, so a Lexus is the only way to go," Sandi interjected.

-Daria-

Jane groped for the phone, her mind booting up to start the day. Yawning as she greeted the caller, her eyes popped as Helen relayed instructions. Jane Lane slammed the phone down with unusual force, hitting the floor with a thud as her feet failed to free themselves from her blanket. Running to Trent's room, Jane pounded on his bedroom door with fury, the door bending from the force of each wrap. Jane called through the door, "Damn it Trent, we need to go to the high school, get the car, your clothes on, and wake up! Daria is in the hospital!"

She beelined it to her room, throwing on some clothes and running sneakers. Having seen no sign of movement, and knowing the car keys' location was known only to Trent as he was the last to use the car, Jane raced out of her house. _Need to get my own car_.

Trent was dressed as he rubbed his eyes, jumping at the sound of the front door slamming. Trent shuffled to his little sister's room to find it empty, moving down stairs to the living room, he called, "Janie?"

-Daria-

A single seagull cawed as it flew over head. The white yard lines faded, the grass left untreated that it tickled the bare ankles of those wearing sandals. Metallic tinged voices waved through the quiet field as listeners tried their best to give undivided attention to the monotone speaker. The stands were patterned in suits, and sweater vests, power suits, long dresses to more casual wear. Parents, grandparents, and siblings watched as the Lawndale High Class of 2003 awaited the sweet words of freedom.

"I can't believe that we are forced to listen to this," Sandi complained, crossing her arms. Her hair was done in bologna curls, long flowing ringlets. Large gold hoop earring tucked in her locks, shining through as the sun's rays graced them just right.

"These gowns don't even breath, I'm sweating underneath here," Stacy added. Traditional pigtails, braided perfectly. She adjusted her cap, a white bandage wrapped like a thin wrist band on her left wrist. Looking like a suicide gone awry, truth be told, the injury was an accident incurred from auto shop class. Something Stacy stumbled upon when she was placed into the elective class accidently.

"Stacy, ewww," Tiffany blanched, pausing mid-application of mascara to her eye. Despite her often 'out of it' disposition, and slow and somewhat incomprehensible speech, she had found the theatre group. Approached by the theatre arts teacher, herself, to help with make-up, Tiffany soon found herself joining the drama club.

"Yeah, yeah," Quinn agreed, absently. Scrolling through the throngs of parents, Quinn searched for her sister, Daria, and her parents, Helen and Jake Morgendorffer. Twisting, swaying, and bobbing the red head looked for her family in the crowd.

"Sorry, Quinn," Stacy apologized.

"Huh?" Quinn muttered, her hair swaying and splashing into her face. Delicately pulling her hair from her face she looked at her friend who was sitting two rows up. The former Fashion Club members were close enough in proximity, but too far to have any _real_ conversation.

"Is everything all right, Quinn?" A young man of blonde hair, Jamie White asked.

"You need something?" Another young man of dark, almost black hair, Joey, interjected, using the back rest of Quinn's chair to lean forward on.

"I'll get it for you," offered Jeffy, an enthusiastic young man, in which all three sat directly behind the Lawndale Little Helper Club member.

After the Fashion Club disbanded, Quinn felt alienated. Some students harboring ill feelings for her after being treated badly, others uncaring to her ambiguous status. Sandy had taken no time bonding with another clique, having been lured in by the Marketing Club to help them. Sandi's controlling and, for lack of better word, intimidating manner helped raise fundraising sales, so much so that she was promoted to president. It was under Daria's wise guidance that Quinn looked inside herself to find another social club to belong. Having been inspired by David Sorenson and his lasting influence on her, Quinn decided to help others, specifically other teens and children. Of course, not babies. As cute as the tikes were, they were also messy and loud.

"It's nothing," Quinn dismissed. _I must've just missed them. I'm sure they're somewhere in the crowd._

"Yes, I'm sure they wouldn't miss _your_ graduation, Quinn," Sandi consoled, displaying a triumphant grin as she sat forward away from anyone's sight.

-Daria-

As the families tumbled upon their children like a tidal wave, Quinn soon found herself floundering in a sea of white flashes, whooping, cheering, and whirring of friends taking their last group pictures. Quinn felt a tug as Stacy dragged her to take a picture with her. Showing her best fake friendly smile, Quinn posed, splitting as soon as Stacy's parents said the picture came out beautiful. Soon the families began to siphon out, pulling away the curtain on Quinn's deepest fear. "They never came," she whispered as tears drizzled down her face.

Jane, Daria's best friend, darted around celebratory families, their sons and daughters flaunting their diplomas. An ogre-like jock, brutish and large, brushed past the artist roughly. "Hey, watch it!" she threatened, shaking her fist.

"Jane?" a soft, sophisticated voice called. Jodie Landon moved through the crowd, to the observer, it looked more as if the attendees parted a path just for her. She was dressed in capris and a light pink tailored shirt, the sleeves cuffed near her elbows, a white tank underneath. Mack Mackenzie, Jodie's steady boyfriend, sauntered behind his girlfriend, waving to the Boston Fine Arts College (BFAC) student. He wore a tailored shirt and tan slacks, an outfit; Jane was certain Jodie had chosen.

"What are you doing here?" Mack asked, chuckling. Jane was donning long shorts stained in paint, and a red tank covered by a black one. She looked like she went through a paint spinner, speckled paint sprites up and down her arms.

"Uh, um, looking for someone," Jane answered, shifting from one foot to another, getting on her tippy toes for a better view. As she moved to leave, a slim, but toned man blocked her.

"Hey Jane, you came to watch me graduate, too?" Kevin Thompson, star quarterback, and nineteen years old, having been held back a year, was still as energetic as Jane remembered.

"Not exactly." Jane went to slide past him, rather surprised Kevin had dressed in pastel pink, striped dress shirt and black slacks, a tie accenting the outfit and rather rounding out his attire.

Just as Jane lifted her foot to move, she cringed as a high pitched voice called her. "Wow, Jane. It's like a reunion or something. Where's Daria? Are you guys not, like, friends anymore?" Wrapping her finger around her mid-length, golden hair, she titled her head in practiced innocence. Brittany bounced on her feet, her small backpack's contents rattling. Denim skirt and a pink polo with her white kswiss sneakers was, Jane guessed, considered dressed up for Brittany.

"Hey, where is Daria?" Mack inquired.

"I haven't seen her anywhere? Is she still at Raft?" Jodie chimed in.

"Where is she, Jane?" Kevin pushed.

Her fist shaking, having been delayed enough, Jane snapped. "QUINN!" The painter repeatedly called the younger Morgendoffer girl until Quinn appeared, squeezing in between Mack and Kevin.

Seeing Quinn approach, clearly having been crying, Jane's stomach dropped. "Oh my God, you know?" Jane brought her hand to her lips, crouching slightly to even herself with Quinn. Jodie shifted uncomfortably, squeezing Mack's hand. Mack turned to his girlfriend. Jodie was perceptive, he was use to her nonverbal signals, and right now, she was sending one. Something wasn't right.

"Know what?" Quinn hiccupped, her eyes red and rimmed in black eyeliner and mascara.

"Daria," Jane replied, gesticulating with her arms.

"Daria, what?" Quinn demanded; an edge to her voice.

Calmly Jane tried to break the news, though knowing or believing she was the more level-headed of the two, she could only prepare for the worst. _I had to answer the phone, didn't I?_ Taking one last deep breath, she declared, "Daria was in a horrible car accident."

~ End Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

July 30, 2010

**A/N: Thanks to StarReader86 and Sun-chan1 for reviewin my first chapter of my very first Daria story. Very awesome. **

**Recap: Not like the first chapter was long, but still. We find out Daria was in a horrific car accident as a result Helen and Jake run to her side, leaving Quinn with no one to attend her high school graduation. Jane collects Quinn afterward, though runs into some old friends first. Oh, and Kevin finally graduated. Hey, if at first you don't succeed, try, try, again. And so we move on to chapter 2 of 'If Nothing Else' . . .**

Chapter 2: Home Sweet Home

Soon they arrived, the double doors hissing open to allow Quinn, Jane, Jodie, and Mack to enter. Still wearing her blue gown, her tassel jumping as the young Morgendoffer girl clopped in her heels into the lobby. Helen was first to notice her daughter and the barrage of people behind her. "Quinn! Thank God you're here!" Mrs. Morgendoffer was made-up nicely, a knee length skirt and red silk blouse. Jake had a green polo and tan slacks. More casual than Helen would approve, but with a rising concern for Mr. Morgendoffer's heart, his over-worked wife let it slide. "How are you holding up?"

Fumbling to articulate an answer, Quinn mumbled at first. "I, uh, I'm fine. What happened? Is she all right?"

"We don't know yet. The doctor won't tell us," Helen answered, her voice rising in pitch from frustration. The double doors slide open to reveal Trent, wearing a black t-shirt with a rock emblem. His jeans ripped and wrinkled, Trent glided into the room.

"Trent?" Jane called, confused why her older brother was there.

Like an aimless snail, Trent arrived by the growing group of people. "You ran off to tell Daria's sister the news before I could," Trent coughs interrupting the flow of his speech, "get the car. When I didn't see you at the school I figured you were here. Thought I'd, like, be here for you and Daria."

"Wow, that's awesome! Thanks man!" Jake responded. "Are you all here for Daria?" he asked, looking at Jodie and Mack, who stood uncomfortable behind the others.

"Uh, kind of, we needed a lift," Jane elaborated.

"Uh, maybe I could help. I was a candy striper at the hospital," Jodie informed, getting a not-to-discrete eye roll from Jane. Ignoring it though, she continued, "I may be able to try and move things along faster." As the African American girl sought out a familiar face, the rest claimed seats. The lobby area was unusually empty. Peach colored walls, trimmed with a grape painted wood bar, and unidentifiable blue-purple wall paper on the bottom half didn't make any of them feel more at ease about waiting in a hospital for news about Daria. The chairs were standard, offering cushion, but not overly plush or lavish. Quinn nestled next to Trent, starring out dumbly. Obviously still processing everything, Quinn clutched her padded diploma cover like a frightened child would her beloved teddy bear. Helen rose, pacing back and forth, her heels clicking like a ticking clock.

"You can probably take that off," Mack said, sitting across from Quinn. Startled, the red head nodded and unzipped the gown. Underneath the sophisticated tarp-like cloak, Quinn was wearing a simple yellow dress, a white belt wrapped around her thin waist. "Wow, nice dress."

"Tha-thanks," Quinn choked, remembering it had taken her weeks to choose a dress for a moment that was long gone, or so it felt.

Trent caught sight of the diploma, the unzipped gown, and the cap Quinn slowly, almost ceremoniously relinquished to the chair next to her. "Hey, Daria's sister," seeing Quinn look up at him, "Congrats."

While Trent and she were not close friends, for he often referred to as "Daria's sister", Quinn fought the urge to hug him. _At least one person noticed_. "Thanks Trent."

"No prob."

-Daria-

Daria batted her eyes, adjusting to the light. _Why can't I see? Oh my God, I'm blind._ A piercing scream resulted in several nurses and a doctor racing to tend to their frightened patient.

"Miss Morgendorffer, please calm down," the doctor asked. The nurses, all middle aged, tried to hush the woman.

"Miss Morgendorffer – Daria!" the doctor yelled. Placing his cream, soft hand on her slim, white forearm, he gained the young woman's attention. "Here, put these on," the doctor ordered, handing Daria her glasses. Slowly the brunette girl placed the hefty frames on her face. "Better?" the doctor asked.

"I guess," she muttered, touching the frames delicately with her slender fingers. "Wha-what am I doing here, doctor . . . ?"

"Uh, Dr. Phillips" unguarded by the question, the doctor arched an eyebrow in confusion. "You were in a terrible car accident, Daria. The driver behind you had a seizure and slammed into your car propelling you into oncoming traffic, in which your car fishtailed clipping another car from the other side of the intersection as I was told by the onsite officer . . . um, anyway," Dr. Phillips cleared his throat, "You're very fortunate to have survived and not incurred any severe injuries. The gentleman driving the car that hit you is in a coma and the older man that had the seizure died, and, uh, yup, you're one lucky girl, Daria." He patted her right knee, awkwardly.

Squinting up at the handsome man, his hand nervously running through his wavy, dark hair, the Morgendorffer girl gripped the sheets. _He's drop dead gorgeous. Dead . . . I could be dead right now? Eeep!_ She mulled over her choice of words carefully before finally coming to a decision.

"I'm going to tell your family and friends you're awake, Daria." He tapped his pen against the clipboard in conclusion that she was okay, or as okay as a crash victim could be. A large bandage was taped over the right side of her forehead, a swollen lip, some small cuts from where shattered window glass had graced her bare arms, and her left leg hidden safely under the bed sheets, recuperating from being exposed to the mental shard that badly bruised her leg were the least of Daria's worries.

"Daria?" the doctor called again, looking for some form of understanding, he leaned in closer to the young woman.

"Yes, I – I think I have a problem. No, I definitely have a problem."

"What is it, Daria?"

"I can't remember the accident," taking a breath as she began to succumb to a growing fear.

He chuckled, "That's not uncommon, you're mind probably blocked the traumatic event out. You may or may not get that memory back. Though, given the circumstances I think that you should –"

"No!" Daria cut the doctor off. "I mean I can't remember _anything_," she stressed, her eyes pleading with the young doctor to solve her problem, and quell her fears.

-Daria-

Quinn paced back and forth outside the hospital entrance, talking on her cell phone. "No, Stacy, I'll still be able to attend the cruise. The doctor said Daria will be fine. She has amnesia, but that her memory will be back to normal in a few days. And I think –"

Jane yanked Quinn's phone from her and snapped it shut. "Daria is going to need your help, Quinn. Those memories aren't going to come back by themselves." Despite Quinn's newly acquried understanding that she was _not_ the center of the universe, sometimes the youngest Morgendorffer fell into step with her old selfish ways; usually in a time upmost inconvenient.

"But, you spent more time with her than I did. You know her better than I do," Quinn countered._ Am I not supposed to enjoy my graduation?_

"Yeah, but I figured seeing as you have known her for, oh say, eighteen years, that counted for something," Jane finished, seeing Helen through the glass double doors, searching for her younger daughter, Jane knew that she would soon have to end this heartwarming conversation.

Holding Quinn's arm in a death grip, Jane squeezed it tighter every passing second, trying to get her point across. _If at first you don't succeed, always use force_, thought Jane as she watched Quinn begin to show signs of suffering; the redhead wincing from the pain. "Okay, okay," Quinn conceded, watching Jane release her arm. "I'll help Daria. God, it's not like I have anything important to do."

Jane noted the bitterness in Quinn's voice, but ignored it for the sake of not enticing the girl to back out of their deal.

Quinn waited out the artist's steely gaze and for Jane to retreat back into the hospital before calling Stacy back. _God only knows what Jane hanging up on Stacy did to the girl's self –esteem. _"No, Stacy, that wasn't me. That was my sister's friend. Yeah – no, Stacy I'm not lying to you. NO STACY!" Quinn sighed, "Ugh, no I don't think that anyone will notice the uneven tan developed from the gowns . . ."

Jane passed Helen in the small overhang, catching the last tid-bits of Quinn's conversation with Stacy before Helen's bull-charging interruption. _Whatever's got Quinn's scrunchie in twist better undo itself as this is not the time for her to pull a Mr. Hyde and become a Fashion Club drone, again._

-Daria—

Daria released from the hospital three days later; warranted that Daria return in a week for Dr. Phillips to seek how she was doing, Helen escorted her still memory-less daughter up to her room. Everyone was excited . . . well, almost everyone.

"Uh, so this is my room?" Daria hesitated. Helen laughed nervously, seeing the flush look on her eldest daughter's face. "Um, am I a schizophrenic or something?" Daria timidly asked, biting back the want to scream as the window's razor sharp teeth, the un-sawed bars smiled at her. Daria cautiously touched the padded wall, leery her fingers would adhere to the well-worn cushioning, and she would soon be swallowed up by the nightmarish décor. "Whoa." Daria jumped a little, suddenly seeing the semi-exposed skeleton poster, turning away, Daria screamed, finding the skull replica waiting for on her desk. "This isn't a joke, is it?" she pled, a shadow of hope seeping into Daria's question.

Laughing out of nervousness at the irony of the scene, Helen dropped Daria's clothing bag on the floor, watching her daughter carefully examine her room some more. "Sweetie, I assure you there is nothing wrong with you." Daria took in her room, the small uneven piles of books. "I read all those?" she asked skeptically, pointing to the small towers. _Do I have a social life?_

"You love to read, and when we moved here you decided not to redecorate. It's . . . . uh," Helen struggled, "like your own little get away." Helen placed a comforting arm around her daughter, pulling Daria closer to her. To say Helen was surprised to have Daria not pull away would be the understatement of the century as in fact, the bespectacled-teen rest her head against her mother.

"From what?" Daria retorted, discovering the anatomically model of the human heart. _Please tell me I want to be a doctor_, Daria prayed silently to herself. "Do we have a guest bedroom?" Feeling compelled not to insult her mother, she quickly added, "It just feels too overwhelming . . . it looks like a room from the psyche ward," sure to mutter the second part, Daria looked to her mother for an answer.

-Daria-

Quinn listened from inside her bedroom door. She could hear her mother talking to her sister, but as her mother moved her sister into the guest bedroom, Quinn failed to pick up anything else from their conversation. Sitting with her knees pressed against her, Quinn bit her bottom lip nervously; her heart aching, a pulsating thought bundled in the back of her mind, fearing that she might have lost something – someone important.

~ End Chapter 2

**Thanks for reading. Please leave a review.**


	3. Chapter 3

August 14, 2010

**A/N: Thanks to Sun-chan 1, respitechristopher, and LadieT for reviewing my story. Very appreciative for the feedback and support.**

**Recap: So, in continuation of the story, chapter two told of Daria's fate (cue dramatic music). We began with most of the gang arriving at the hospital. A big overlook occurs, as Trent is the only person to congradulate Quinn on graduating high school. Daria survived the horrific car crash. Hooray! Sadly, the accident rendered her with a case of amnesia. That's bad, or it is for Quinn, as Jane holds her responsible to help Daria regain her memory. Quinn, being the daughter of a successful lawyer, tries to counter, but fails. Quinn begrudingly agrees to help, but warns that she has better things to do, like prepare for her island cruise she is supposed to go on with her friends next week. Daria is released three days later and introduced back to her life. Perhaps, it would have been better not to show Daria her bedroom, first. Not everyone takes to padded walls so well. Chapter two ends centering on Quinn eavesdropping on Helen and Daria's conversation to move Daria to the guest bedroom for the night . . . or until her real bedroom doesn't give her nightmares.**

Chapter 3: Are You for Real?

The next morning paced itself like any other day for the Morgendorffers. "Honey, I expect you to help Daria regain her memory?" Helen sang, dashing about the kitchen in preparation for leaving for work.

"Uh-huh."

"Remember the doctor said that any little thing could trigger her memory to come back." Helen locked up her briefcase and grabbed a protein shake from the refrigerator, a common breakfast substitute.

"Uh-huh." Quinn picked at another piece of her low-fat blueberry muffin, leafing through the newest _Waif_ issue.

"Quinn!" Helen yelled, stomping her foot.

"Yes, mom! I will help Daria. You know, I still have to finish packing for my cruise with Sandi, Stacy, and Tiffany. You know, the one to celebrate our freedom from high school?"

"That's nice, Quinn. Just keep an eye on your sister, will you?" Helen said in a tone of command more than a question. "Your father is at work already. I thought it best not to expose Daria to his, um . . ."

"Vibrate personality," Quinn smirked.

Helen smiled, blowing past Quinn to leave for work. "Bye sweetie!" she cried out from the front door, before closing it and driving off.

"Help Daria . . . help Daria . . . the cute doctor said to show her something familiar. What can I show her that doesn't require too much effort?"

-Daria-

Quinn found Daria in the bathroom, bottles diving into the sink, her older sister crazily grabbing them and returning them to their spots in the medicine cabinet. "What are you doing?" Quinn asked, narrowing her eyes as she watched Daria.

Placing the remaining bottle of aspirin haphazardly into the medicine cabinet, Daria turned to her younger sister, "Um, Quinn, right? Do you know if I wore contacts?" Daria cocked her head to one side, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth to chew. Daria wore her traditional black skirt, but changed her unflattering green jacket and orange shirt for a purple tee shirt with a silver design and a white and purple, checkered belt. Daria kicked her black and white converse sneakers into the white linoleum floor, anxiously.

"You did, until, like, your eyes turned an ugly blood red and stuff and so you changed back to wearing your glasses. I don't know why, either, because you looked so much more normal," noticing Daria raise her eyebrows at the insinuation of being "not normal," Quinn pressed on, "not to say you were, uh, well anyway, you never went to the eye doctor again and had the prescription changed." Quinn clasped her hands together, laughing nervously.

"Hmm, I see."

-Daria-

"And here we are, you're room," Quinn announced, swinging the door open, impersonating Vanna White as she showed Daria her bedroom.

"Yeah, I know." Quinn shrunk inside as Daria cringed upon seeing the cushion-walled room. _This is going to be harder than I thought_.

"Um, you spend a lot of time in here. You like to write and . . . read . . . and . . ." Quinn stopped mid-sentence as she watched her sister's face flash through emotions of fear, curiosity, and disturbance.

Sighing, "Maybe we should try somewhere else."

-Daria-

Quinn pulled out a matching baby tee for her low rise, stressed jeans. Theresa, the assistant manager at Cashman's (Quinn's favorite clothing store), stood behind Quinn, arms outstretched as she waited for her favorite customer to toss another outfit on top of the growing pile of clothes she was already carrying.

"Um, Quinn can you afford all this?" Theresa posed to the red head. While this would be rude had she asked a year ago, Quinn had been given a quota of money to spend each month since Daria started college and her parents quickly realized how much sending a daughter to college cost. Who knew textbooks cost so much? At first Quinn accepted a job to tutor as a way to make up the difference; she later found it more profitable to save, as well, and splurge when there were sales – more bang for your buck. A piece of advice Daria pointed out earlier that fall, during one of their talks over the phone. Quinn never pictured Daria leaving her and the family, or the loneliness she would feel with her sister gone. Despite her sister being home and with her, Quinn was acute to feeling forlorn.

"Uh, well, I got some extra cash, sort of," Quinn tried to answer off-handedly.

Theresa's eyebrows furrowed. "Oh, really?"

"Well, my mom gave me some cash to take Daria out," Quinn replied, struck with remembering her reason for traveling to the mall; she looked for her older sister. Quinn frantically searched for Daria around the store before finding her exiting a changing room. Quinn's jaw dropped, watching Daria leave with outfits that were . . . in fashion?

The two Morgendorffer sisters left Cashman's, Daria walking with a stride remarkably similar to Quinn when she use to parade around with the Fashion Club. Ironically, Quinn had to quicken her steps slightly to keep up. "I don't get it!" Quinn announced out loud to herself.

Daria merely quirked an eyebrow at her, taking more interest in the little boutiques that lined their walk.

"When did you get fashion sense? I mean, unless . . . but that doesn't make sense. If you had fashion sense all along then why did you dress the way you did in high school? God, this doesn't make sense. Unless, you didn't follow the trends because you didn't really care. But, now that you don't know who you are . . . you don't know how to not be unfashionable? This hurts my head." Quinn stopped, looking at her own attire to see that she was a walking _Waif _catalogue, or was she? Her clothes, a salmon-colored off the shoulder blouse and blue cuffed capris with white sneakers was _in_. But, not the way it was yesterday or a couple of weeks ago.

Quinn had originally taken Daria to the mall in hopes of helping jog her memory. Teens always hung out at the mall and Daria was still sort of a teen, _and_ Cashman's was having a sale that day, so it made sense to kill two birds with one stone.

Daria turned about face to halt Quinn in any further deliberations that were directed out loud and to no one in particular. "Uh, are you done talking to your imaginary friends? My room – with the padded walls – wasn't yours at one time, was it?" Daria retorted, half mocking Quinn. "Hey, is my eye doctor around here?" Daria asked Quinn over her shoulder as she started into a perfume store.

Still deep in thought, Quinn only caught the last of the sentence. "Where is there a doctor? Wait up!"

-Daira-

"What are we doing here?" Daria stood by the thirty yard line of the football field, wearing tan Bermuda shorts and a summer green strapless top that ruffled in the front, revealing some cleavage. Quinn was wearing blue jean shorts, platform white sandals and matching spaghetti strap top.

"We both attended this dreaded high school," Quinn answered, forcing a laugh. Yesterday at the mall was met with complete and utter failure. The sun shining happily, the birds singing, promised a better day. The sound of clattering metal beat through the empty fiel, maintenance men piling the folding chairs used for the graduation onto a small dolly. A pang of disappointment pulsated through the recent graduate.

"Honestly – between sisters – was I a social leper?" Daria touched her glasses, subconsciously.

"You were popular," mumbling to a level that Daria could not understand, "in denotation," Quinn sighed. Almost on cue, the jingle of a tune erupted from Quinn's canary colored purse.

Picking up her cell phone, "No, Stacy, I already told you, this is not the same ship as the one the school hosted the casino on. This one is much, much bigger. No, Stacy, the Titanic sank in the arctic or something – where there are ice burgs. We're going to the islands – no ice burgs! No, Stacy, don't – please, don't – I didn't mean to be that harsh. I'm just stressed, that's all." Quinn paused to make some type of gesture to Daria that she would be done soon, when she noticed Daria was gone. "Stacy, I got to go." Shutting her cell phone closed before Stacy could respond, Quinn realized she was standing on the football field alone, even the maintenance men were gone; the stage for graduation her only company. "Daria!"

Quinn's sandals smacked the sidewalk, jolting to a stop as she finally found her sister. Daria waved, giggling like an airhead teenager to two guys. Still a good distance to determine much, the young redhead was able to figure by their build and size they were _not_ in high school. As she caught her breath, Quinn focused on the beat up sedan they use to leave. _A beat up, rusted sedan? I definitely don't know them, and they don't go to our school. No guy that attended Lawndale in the last three years owns a '98 sedan, grey with a rust right door and red pin stripe._ Having compiled a list with her friends that sorted all the eligible (even the unworthy) guys of Lawndale and their cars, Quinn knew without an ounce of doubt that the two guys that just left did not attend Lawndale High. If they did, they had to have graduated at least five years ago, before any of her or her friends attended the high school. Pulling her eyes away from the beat up car, Quinn finally blurted out, "What the hell? You just took off!"

"Hey, you were busy with your friend, _mom_," Daria teased. "Plus, I'm not quite sure what street we live on so I wouldn't have gone far. God, relax will you? Anyway, I just got us invited to a party. You should be thanking me."

"I don't know them, and I know as sure as hell, _you_ don't know them. You just don't go to a stranger's party. I know that your brain was rattled and you forgot everything and _everyone_! But, God, Daria, use some common sense."

Cross with Quinn for treating her like a child, Daria looked over her frazzled sibling. "I get the feeling that these man repellent glasses didn't make me Miss Popularity, but I'm wondering how popular you were," Daria watched her sister gasp and raise a hand to her chest before continuing, "I mean you're kind of . . . spastic . . . and boring. Not to mention, really . . ." Daria waited for a beat, letting Quinn soak in the verbal assault, reading to drive in the winning move, ". . . geeky." Daria started to take steps down the street in the direction of their house, moving at a brisk walk.

The former Fashion Clubber looked as if she had been hit by an eighteen wheeler. "What do you mean boring?" Quinn cried out, hurrying after her sister. "I was Fashion Club Vice President!"

-Daria-

Jane nonchalantly made her way to the front door of the Lane house. Passing a working and accurate clock (something extremely rare to find in the Lane household), Jane took count that it was nearly eleven in the morning. If she had not trained her mind to function at normal people's hours since attending BFAC, Jane would have been vexed having been disturbed before two in the afternoon. Opening the front door, her eyes popped seeing Quinn and Daria standing in the door way. "We need to talk," Quinn deadpanned.

Seating her sister on the lumpy, stained, yellow couch, Quinn ushered Jane into the kitchen. "Listen, I've tried, I seriously did. Now, it's your turn to restore her memory. I need to pack for my cruise that I'm going on Friday. Two days to pack will be tight, but I think I can manage if you take her. See ya, wouldn't want to be ya," Quinn sang, giving the artist and nonchalant salute as she exited the house. Jane garbled a protest, but stopped when she saw Daria. "What the hell did she do to you?"

Daria cocked her head to one side, confusion alight in her eyes. The eldest Morgendorffer daughter wearily looked about the living room. A mounation of mail, some ugly shaped ceramic pots, and a few pieces clothes dress the living room. Daria, considered fleeing, but sizing Jane up, believed the young woman to be harmless. Dressed in tan, suede sandals, a short, sky blue, wavy skirt, and white tank with a life guard insignia, Daria spoke, "So, Quinn says were best friends."

"Uh, yeah, come on, we'll head up to my room."

Jane mulled over Daria's wardrobe change more as she watched her best friend peruse her numerous paintings. "Did something tragic happen?" Daria asked, viewing a particular piece. A dreary, bland-toned painting of people crying and melting in front of a burning diploma with a school etched in blood. Jane shivered, the voice, the pitch, the tone in which Daria asked her question struck a nerve in her memory of Jane's days at Lawndale High with the Fashion Club.

"Um, high school," Jane joked.

This received a chuckle that while comforting to the painter's ears, also perturbed her as Daria smirked not _laughed_ at others' sarcasm. _At least she still has a sense of humor_, thought Jane, still intently watching Daria view her paintings.

Sick Sad World faded into commercial, the audible sigh from Daria, the silent (kind of) signal that 'something is wrong' caught Jane's ears. "What's up?" Jane queried, forcing herself to be cheery._ If you don't smile, you'll cry_.

"After taking into account my environment, dress, and social circle, and now, adding this newly acquired information that I've observed and experience here, I believe we're best friends, or friends, at least. I can't truly judge the closeness as I don't remember much . . . of anything. Please, don't be offended," Daria added, feeling she was being rude to someone who had not done anything _physically _harmful to her. The painting she saw earlier may lead her to therapy or nightmares, possibly.

Jane shrugged her shoulders. A small smile played at her lips as the "artist extraordinaire" was compelled to feel that things were looking up. This was the most comfortable she felt with Daria since her best friend was dropped off on her doorstep like an unwanted baby. Maybe all Daria needed was some familiarity, and who better than Jane Lane. Seeing Jane unfazed by Daria's bluntness, the glasses-wearing teen continued, "Don't we do anything? Go out, or party with some friends."

Jane's smile inverted; reality slapping down all hope that progress was being made. _This is Lawndale not Boston._ Jane and Daria had made separate friends at their respective colleges, but the "partners in crime" still devoted Fridays as their day to hang out. Gathering at a pizza parlor in downtown Boston was fine until week seven swam in, during midterms. More than pizza was needed to rub out the stress of the week. Under Jane's insistence to join the human race, and more importantly, their age group, the duo frequented a grunge club, similar but more successful than the Zen in Lawndale. Soon, Daria and Jane had made friends and shared a clique like in high school with the exception that their clique in college included more than just them. Jane couldn't show Daria their drastically different social live; they were hours away from Raft and BFAC. With her first option unusable, Jane settled on wit and sarcasm.

"We would have to first get invited to some parties, amiga," Jane snorted, with a flick of her paint brush. She had taken her usual post by her easel, not to paint, however. Standing near the easel brought some type of comfort – control to this weird and unwelcomed feeling of absurdity and helplessness.

Sitting up on the bed, having steered the conversation her way, Daria tapped her legs in excitement. "Well, it so happens I did and we can both go!"

Daria's ecstatic behavior would not have bothered Jane had Daria not been bouncing on Jane's bed in uncontainable joy and furthermore, not been ecstatic. It was unnerving to watch Daria be ecstatic about something.

"Oh-okay, where? Is it one of Jodie's or Brittany's shin-digs?" Jane said, referring to two friends Daria and Jane knew and kept in touch with from high school. Daria hated parties, she _hated_ large crowds. It was after meticulous planning and groveling, and practically dragging her that Daria went to a party during high school. And, while things changed in college, Daria was not a wild party chick. Caught off guard, Jane tried to focus her mind to listen. The whole thing felt surreal.

Titling her head, perplexed, Daria shook her head. "No, I met these two guys back at the high school, Lowdel –"

"Lawndale," Jane interrupted. _Am I seriously getting defensive over my old high school, which I loathed with every fiber of my being?_

"The point is they invited me to a party they were having. It's tonight." Quickly looking at the digital clock on her cell phone, Daria continued, "It's in five hours, so I better go and get ready. I'm not allowed to drive, so . . . you'll have to. I'll have Quinn or someone drop me off here." Daria stood and smoothed out her skirt and tank. "Make sure you're ready to go. It's fine to be fashionably late, but not too late as to not make an entrance." Daria waved, leaving Jane in a whir of confusion.

"How many hours does it take to get ready for a freakin' party? We have to change? And, what two guys? " Jane yelled to an empty house, or so she thought as Trent passed and stopped in her doorway.

"Don't look at me like that," Jane said, pointing the handle of her paintbrush at her older brother. "She was just here, I swear!"

"Hey, I understand. My muse has left me stranded before, too," a coughing fit coming and going, Trent finished, "she'll come back, though, Janie. You just have to be patient." Trent nodded his reassurance, before continuing his way to the kitchen.

Jane turned back to her canvas, but found it hard to concentrate. Her stomach rumbled and gurgled like a bad slice of pineapple, onion, pepperoni pizza; even though, she hadn't eaten, yet. A feeling of dread bubbled inside of the young artist, who violently discarded her brush, wildly pitching it at one of her bedroom walls. Still feeling unsatisfied, she left to join her brother in the kitchen in hunt for food.

~ End Chapter 3

**Thank you for reading. Please leave a review.**


	4. Chapter 4

October 12, 2010

**A/N: Thanks to Agirl2Nerdy, StarReader86, pinkminx, and Sun-chan 1 for reviewing. Also a special thanks to Ladie T and StarReader86 for the additional support and great conversation. Thanks for keeping me on my toes.**

**Recap: Okay, so this definitely needs to be here this time. Whoops. Chapter 3, well Quinn followed through with Jane's "request" to help Daria. Too bad things snowballed from bad to worse. From failing to receive a reaction other than fright when showing Daria her bedroom with the padded walls and anatomically correct body parts to being out shopped at the mall. Of course, those incidents were small in comparison to Quinn's final attempt . . . reconnecting Daria with her good old, fun-loving high school, Lawndale High! (cue gagging) While calming down Stacy on the phone, Daria is invited to a party by two boys, who Quinn is unable to identify past realizing they must have graduated high school at least five years ago! Having been verbally cut down by her sister, in the most loving way, Quinn passes her off to Jane, so she can pack for her cruise with the other former Fashion Club members. After having the scare of her life (seeing Daria showing her new fashion-conscious self) Jane reintroduces Daria to the routine she and Daria had come to follow in high school: Jane paints while Daria contemplates her problem, all while watching 'Sick Sad World.' If only that is what happened. Poor Jane. Unprepared, she apprehensively agrees to go with her amiga to a party - not hosted by Brittany Taylor or Jodie Landon - no, but by two complete strangers. Fun! And so this brings us to another rousing chapter of 'If Nothing Else.' Enjoy.  
**

Chapter 4: Where the Road of Friendship Ends . . .

Daria parted her hair, again. Scrutinizing her every feature, she sighed. While she would have preferred to pull her hair back to expose her expressive eyes and pouty lips, the ostentatious, cotton bandage had to be covered somehow. Subsequently, half her face was shaded; thus, her eyes. But, did it really matter? Even if the bandage was not an obstacle, Daria still had her man-eater glasses to work with, or did she? A campfire whistle streamed and filled the quiet halls of the Morgendorffer house. Her father's cheerful tune gave birth to an idea that had been bouncing around in her brain for days. Checking for any flaws in her wardrobe or make-up, Daria skipped out of the bathroom and down the stairs to the source of the whistling.

-Daria-

Helen tossed her car keys into the key bowl awkwardly. Balancing two full bags of groceries, Helen rolled her eyes at the wall-shaking music coming from her youngest daughter's room. Leisurely, she filed away the food in the pantry and refrigerator. Her mind kneaded over her objective, her heart sinking as less and less time filled the gap in which she would have to waltz upstairs and do something most cruel. Quinn's door was cracked open, light flooding the darkened hallway. "Quinn," Helen called, slowly entering the room. A large pink trunk and matching duffle luggage were stacked neatly in the middle of the room. Quinn, with her back turned to her mother, was currently grunting and growling as she struggled to jam the last of her essentials into her carry-on bag.

Helen played with the antenna of her cell phone. Mrs. Morgendorffer was stirred from her reverie by Quinn, who looked perturbed to be disturbed from her packing regiment.

"Sweetie, we need to talk," Helen broached. Quinn's face fell, seeing Helen viciously turn and play with the antenna of her phone. _Something was wrong._

"What's up?" Quinn asked, trying to play dumb, despite her. She turned her music off, so she could clearly hear her mother.

"Do you happen to know where Daria is?"

Quinn's jaw locked from anxiety, forcing her not to answer right away. "Uh, she's with Jane." Quinn refused to meet her mother's eyes, afraid Helen may find out that she was not being completely truthful.

Having not detected Quinn's abnormal behavior accompanying her previous response, the overly-aggressive lawyer moved on to her more pressing business she needed to share with her daughter. Helen drew close, tenderly placing her hands on her daughter's shoulders. "I know that things have been . . . different." Quinn scoffed; her eyes downcast and unreadable. "Quinn, I have to ask that you cancel your trip. "

Whipping her head to lock eyes with her mother, she nearly screeched, "What?" Her bottom lip quivering, Quinn choked out, "Why?"

"Honey, I just don't think that at this time that going on the cruise is permissible."

"Don't you trust me?" Quinn was near tears. "Is it my grades? I know I got all A's." Quinn had broken free of her mother's grasp; no longer seeing Helen as an ally.

"No, no, that's not it at all, Quinn," Helen breathed. She was not mentally prepared after a long and tiring day at work to now handle Quinn's break down. "Your father and I . . ." Quinn rolled her eyes, knowing that any statement starting with 'your father and I' really meant, her mom decided to do something and her father just went along with it, "with Daria's condition not improving, we feel that she should still be supervised. She could be easily manipulated into something by someone without full comprehension of the consequences to those decisions."

"Are you kidding me? She's fine!" Quinn hollered. "Haven't I given enough?" Stamping her feet, in a rage unrivaled, Quinn caught her stuffed, green rhino and threw it into her vanity. Dozens of nail polishes and make-up toppled over onto her rug. Helen was appalled by her daughter's behavior; Quinn having reduced herself to throwing a tantrum.

"Quinn! That's enough! Your sister did not ask to be in a horrible car accident and your insensitivity is not helping her. No wonder no improvement has been made. I felt guilty at first, but now – now I think that your father and I were premature in thinking you were old enough to be responsible to go on a cruise with no adult supervision," Helen huffed, all remorse evaporated.

Bubbling with anger, Quinn erupted in frustrated fury. She growled at the news. Unable to contain herself, Quinn blurted out, "I hate you!"

All her hard work, was it for nothing? She had been so serious about her school work, her club activities, and even becoming more mature about her dating habits this year. Sure, compared to Daria, her attempts were juvenile, but damn it! She had worked herself to the bone to get to that mediocre level.

"Get out!" Quinn screamed, pointing to the door.

"How dare you! I am still your mother, and you will not talk to me like that," Helen declared in a shrill voice. Her face nearly matching the color of her burgundy business suit, she clutched her phone to the point of almost breaking it.

"What are you going to do? Ground me? You might as well, since I can't go on the cruise now," Quinn egged on.

"All right, Quinn Ann Morgendorffer, if you're so fond of the idea. With the exception of helping your sister and going to work, you're grounded for the next month." Helen stormed out, leaving Quinn to cry into her pillows.

-Daria-

The doorbell rang and Jane grumbled. The irony of the situation made the artist sick. Finally, Daria willingly wanted to be social, even to the extent of going to a party, but all Jane wished to do was go to bed and dream the world away.

Daria tapped her foot impatiently. Wearing a tight mini-skirt, a mid-drift, she checked her make-up in the powder compact she had extracted from her purse. Trent graciously opened the door, in limbo between sleep and consciousness. "Whoa." Looking at the woman in front of him, he suddenly felt hot and self-conscious.

Trent fumbled his words, his tongue stubbornly not cooperating. Daria was always beautiful, but her beauty was under the radar. So disguised in her classic garb, it could be easily overlooked. His eyes lingered over curves that seemed to have developed overnight. Daria could see how Trent starred, ogling. A mischievous smile crossed her face. "Hey."

"Um, hey," the musician said, returning the greeting.

"Is Jane here?" He wasn't bad looking. His scraggly goatee, aloof eyes, and svelte shape – typical rock star made him automatically desirable. Trent permitted Daria into the house, both stood waiting for Jane to appear. A moment or two of silence and the young Miss Morgendorffer continued, "Do we know each other?" Daria hoped they never had more than friendship. A clean slate was the best slate.

Daria closed the space between them, waves of inferiority rippled through him.

"Trent?" Jane called, thumping down the steps without a care in the world. The artist narrowed her eyes surspiciously at the close proximity her brother and Daria shared. "Let's go." Jane gestured for Daria to follow her to the car she was borrowing from her brother.

Outside the Lane house, Daria smirked, "He's cute, your brother."

"He's going out with someone," Jane said curtly, Daria shrinking back from Jane's acid tongue.

"Who?" Daria inquired, regaining her confidence.

"Monique," Jane replied just as fast, unlocking the car. The artist was uncertain if this was their "off week," but she didn't care. A sea storm of anger rose at the thought of Daria and Trent going out together. The feeling had never formed before, but something inside her convinced Jane whole heartedly that it was a bad idea, now.

-Daria-

Jane and Daria arrived at the address the two men had given Daria. There was no doubting that a party was well on its way. Cars surrounded the large, swank mansion and music pumped into the neighborhood from behind the house. Still taking in the scene and feeling a tinge uncomfortable Jane jogged to catch up with Daria, who was entering the gate that led to the backyard.

They were standing at the side of the house when Daria stopped and with much excitement extracted her thick, bulky frames from her dainty hand bag. Jane was surprised by Daria's non-glasses choice, but nevertheless supported her want to change her look . . . her hair . . . her make-up – from not wearing any . . . everything! Corking her eyebrow, Jane watched intently as Daria's smile broadened. "Look," she urged. "This is the night where I take new steps," Jane's heart pounded, leery of Daria's choice in words. _What new steps?_ "I may not remember who I am, but I feel more in control and free, and to show it, I now christen this event."

Jane nearly fainted. Daria snapped her glasses in half, uncaringly dropping them onto the uncut grass and stomping on them.

"Your glasses!" Jane cried out.

"Don't worry; I bought slimmer frames to wear at night after I take my contacts out. No more hiding my eyes. They're one of my better features."

Jane flubbed her words, noted by Daria's scrunched face to understand her. Hearing the loud music and static of people chatting and having a good time; Daria glided to the deck and began mingling. The artist cautiously picked up one of the shattered frames, starring at the eight little hers that reflected back in the broken frame. Jane was surprised to see a single tear chase down her face. Abandoning the broken glasses, she moseyed on over to the heart of the party.

-Daria-

Quinn took refuge on the side of her bed farthest from the door. Every few seconds the high school graduate would peer over to the door in anticipation of her mother checking in. Returning to the conversation she was having on her cell phone (thank God for cell phones!), she deflated, hiccupping, "No-o, my-my mom grounded me. I'm not allowed to go because of-of Daria."

"That's horrible, Quinn," Stacy sympathized. "I guess we could go another time if we explain to the travel agency . . . we'll probably have to make up a story, though," the pigtailed girl mused, biting at one of her fingernails.

"No!" Quinn hollered. "You should go. You -you deserve this. Plus, I'm grounded for the n-next m-month so I won't be able to s-see you guys anyway," Quinn reasoned, her voice shaking.

"But that's half our summer. We'll all be going to college in the fall – away from each other. You're going the farthest, all the way to Pepper hill," Stacy whined.

"I know," Quinn conceded lamely; her hiccups dissipating.

"You're eighteen, they can't do that!" Stacy argued.

"They can if they're paying for my tuition," Quinn sighed, "It's a crappy card to pull, but my mom is a lawyer. She always finds a way to win."

"Yeah," Stacy agreed solemnly. "I don't want to go just with Tiffany or Sandy, though. I mean Tiffany is all right, but Sandy and I don't get a long. The reason we can all hang out is because of you, Quinn," Stacy said, her voice rising in pitch, a sign that the former secretary of the Fashion Club was about to engage in a panic attack.

"You'll be fine. It's a big boat. Relax Stacy," Quinn ordered.

"This sucks," Stacy announced.

Hearing the powerful stomp of her mother ascending the stairs, Quinn quickly ended the conversation, shutting her phone seconds before Helen arrived.

-Daria-

The night was warm, a mild breezed swirling in as to make its presence known to the party goers. Paper laterns swinging in the wind, festive table clothes, and an "A +" disk jockey set the tone. This was no average party; though, pulling up to the palace nearly two hours ago already spoke that to the artist. The pool that touched the makeshift dance floor shimmered from the floodlights installed at its bottom. Jane side stepped a man just barely, watching him tackle another man into the pool. Shrill, fake screams blinked on and off from young women in skimpy bathing suits dodging hormonally-drunk men from throwing them in.

The artist rolled her eyes, watching the almost animalistic mating ritual of men fighting for dominance to mate when she backed into someone.

"Tom!" she cried out.

"Jane?" Tom Sloane, ex-boyfriend of Jane and Daria, titled his head, perplexed. "What are you doing here?" Jane ceased to answer, still surprised to see him at the party. "Jane? I'm surprised to see you. I thought you hated these social elitists' things – rich kids who had things handed to them on a silver platter."

Regaining her thoughts, no longer stricken with shock, Jane fumbled. "Um, I am – it's just that I was invited by a friend."

"You know Andy and Ricky," Tom asked.

"Who?" Jane's head began to pound; the feeling of nausea sizzling in her stomach.

"They're the hosts of this party." Tom inched closer, seeing Jane scrunch her face up. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Fine." Jane took a calming breath.

"If you weren't invited by Andy or Rick, then are you here with someone else?" Tom looked about, the darkness of true night making it hard to see faces. Jane laughed to herself, as Tom quickly sought out the man he thought was her date.

Having had enough fun watching Tom sweat, Jane explained. "I'm here with Daria. She was invited."

"Daria knows Andy and Ricky?" Tom immediately regretted the way his question came out, watching his ex-girlfriend glare at him. "I didn't mean it like that. I just . . ."

"I know what you meant," Jane eased, tapping her foot to the music. Tom had cut his hair short, spiking it up into a little patch of grass. His hair was blonde now, as light as a shrouded cloud in front of the sun. He was wearing a black tailored shirt with a white t-shirt underneath, and matching blue denim jeans. Jane felt awkward and unnerved in his presence. Not to say the change was either bad or good, but Tom had changed where Jane hadn't. She was wearing black, torn jeans, her classic boots, and a long, tight, red tee. Her hair and attitude were the same; she was practically for all intense purposes . . . the same?

Breaking the silence that filtered, Tom asked, "You said Daria was here, right? I haven't seen her."

"I doubt you would recognize her," Jane remarked lowly to herself.

"Excuse me," Tom queried, having not heard Jane clearly.

"Nothing," she affirmed. Not comfortable with the silence she swished her drink around in its red cup. "What did they put in this punch? Paint thinner."

His laugh brought a melting familiarity and Jane finally released the tension in her shoulders. His looks had changed, but perhaps not his personality. "Whoever spiked the punch did a lousy job. You're not supposed to taste the alcohol."

Jane nodded in concurrence. "This coming from experience," she teased.

"Not personal, but yeah," he answered, a grin adorning his face.

Taking a sip, even though most of it was already gone, Jane's face contorted into one of agony. "I can't drink anymore of this poison. I think I would rather have the paint thinner." She dumped the remaining contents of the drink onto the grass.

"So, back to my unanswered question: where is Daria?" Tom asked, again.

Another wave of nausea rippled from her stomach. "I'm not sure," Jane strained as she tried to wish away the rolling sea of nausea that was currently churning in her stomach.

"Whoa, you sure you okay?" Tom huddled close to Jane, who had her eyes tightly screwed shut. "How much have you had? I mean if this is your first time drinking –"

"It's not, but it is my first time drinking something so horrible. God, I feel sick." Jane leaned against the railing that fenced in the pool. "How am I the only one that wants to puke?"

"Most people pre-gamed and so they can't taste this sewer punch. Did you eat?" Jane shook her head, clutching her stomach. "Come on, let's go somewhere quieter."

"That sounds like a good idea," she copped.

"Jane," Tom exasperated. "I'm not trying to get in your pants, just help you. Can't we be civil?"

-Daria-

Jane would never admit it openly, but she was glad Tom had bumped into her. He was right. Sitting in the gazebo on the side of the house, away from the music and cheesy decorations that were strewn about the deck and lined the pool, Jane felt slightly better. Tom rubbed circles on her back, trying to soothe her.

"Please stop," Jane asked forcefully.

"I was only –"

"I know, but you're rubbing my back is making me sway, which reminds me of waves, which reminds me of the ocean where boats are, in conclusion – you are making me seasick." Tom desisted on the spot, opting to just watch and wait for Jane to feel better. However, Jane knew she wouldn't feel better until she threw up. Not long after, the artist whirled around to lean over the side of the gazebo. Tom looked away, the sound of Jane vomiting enough to make him sick.

The duo finally returned to the party a half hour later, almost rounding midnight. "I really need to find Daria."

"I'll help," Tom insisted. Jane objected, in her mind, not wanting the two to reunite on these terms.

A low, but feminine voice sang a greeting. A voluptuous blonde approached; her gait wobbly as she slung an arm around Tom. "Who's this, Tommy?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at Jane.

Tom stammered, no audible answer leaving his mouth. Feeling she owed him, Jane piped up. "I'm Tom's ex-girlfriend's best friend from high school. My name is Jane." It was a mouthful, but it was the truth – not the whole truth – but the when did that matter, except for when being prosecuted.

He mouthed a 'thank you.' Gripping her waist to support her better, Tom introduced the giggly woman as his girlfriend, Jade.

"Well, you seem to have your hands full, I'll best be leaving." Jane shook her head at the helpless look Tom threw her as he tried to contain his girlfriend.

Jane had floundered into the house. Overly crowded, Jane easily figured she had entered the make out room. Couples piled on the couches, chairs, or pressed against the walls feeling each other up and showing different forms of expression to each other. Jane instinctively looked away, but then realized that Daria may have been one of the participants. Scanning the room quickly she concluded that was not so and moved up the stairs onto the main floor.

Music from a surround stereo played inside, different people dancing and chatting. Jane spotted Daria mingling with a tall, toned man, his shirt unbuttoned. He had shaggy, light brown hair that was contained by his backwards baseball cap. He looked like a surfer, wearing swim trunks and flip flops. As Jane approach the man split, heading for the kitchen. "See ya, Andy," Daria waved coyly at him.

"I've been looking all over for you," she declared.

"You found me. Now I'll count to ten and you go and hide," Daria retorted. Jane wanted to strangle Daria with her bare hands. Smelling the alcohol on her breath, Jane was astonished.

"Your mixing alcohol with meds," she chastised in a hushed voiced.

"Don't be stupid, do I look like I want to die on an overdose," Daria returned in the same manner. "I skipped taking my medication today."

Jane slapped herself, dragging her hand down in face. Even though Daria was making logical and safe decisions they were equally just as stupid and immature. Daria hiccupped, cupping her hand over her mouth to hide the fact. "I'm fine," Daria asserted. While her speech was still intact, Jane worried for her friend's safety.

"Jane!" The artist turned in the direction her name was called. Tom jogged to her, slightly red in the face.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Jane mused.

"She's fine. I dumped her on some friends of hers." Seeing Jane cocked and eyebrow, he assured her, "She'll be fine. Have you found Daria?"

Jane looked at him, confused. Why would he ask such a stupid question when clearly she was standing right next to Daria . . . unless . . .

Jane looked behind her to see that Daria had slipped away. Cursing under her breath, she whirled back around to face him. "Not anymore!"

"Huh?"

"You let her get away!" Jane accused. Tom opened his mouth to object, but decided it would be futile. Instead he proposed they work together to find her. Jane agreed. Two people searching were better than doing it alone. Her stomach growled and Jane halted.

"You're still feeling sick?" Jane nodded, grabbing at her stomach, praying for her nausea to leave. "Let's stop and get a soda," Tom suggested.

"No, I'll get it by myself. You go outside; she may have made a u-turn and headed for the pool. I'll go look upstairs. We're losing time."

"Why is it so important we find her?" Tom asked, concerned as to why Jane was to persistent they find Daria.

"I don't want her to do something she'll regret." Still seeing Tom looked befuddled at the urgency, she promised, "I'll tell you later." Tom moved to go back to the basement that led to the outside, when Jane stopped him. "She wearing a mini skirt, a mid drift, and no glasses." Tom nearly tripped over his feet; he did a double take before continuing his pursuit, his mind running a hundred miles a minute with questions.

-Daria-

"How could you do that?" Quinn whined.

"Quinn, Mr. Sorentino called asking for help and I volunteered you; since you have all this new free time." Quinn sunk, her shoulders slumping, her mother was not going to revoke her decision.

"That's not fair! How am I supposed to take care of Daria and work?"

"I'm sure you haven't forgotten those useful tips Dina Decker gave you," Helen said in a malicious cheeriness.

Quinn would have thrown a second tantrum, but exhaustion had claimed the redhead. Quinn nodded numbly. Helen spun around, leaving the room with force, her voice echoing into the hall as she contacted someone from work (most likely Eric).

Sinking into her bed, once more, she wept. "I'm like Cinderella with no fairy god mother." Unable to go to the cruise, forced to take care of her sister, and a cruel and relentless mother, what was she to do? The red head sighed. She looked at her fur-covered phone, but was too depressed to make any calls. Plus, she had already talked to Stacy and if she were to call anyone, it would have been Stacy. Rising from her bed, she selected some pajamas to change into. Passing the stock of suitcases and bags another flood of tears arrived as she realized that her ability to go was stripped from her.

-Daria-

Leaning on the balcony iron railing, Daria batted her eyes. The young man who led her to the beautiful view tilted his head and leaned in. Reflexively Daria stepped back. Her heart raced and she fought the urge to run. Why would she run? He was gorgeous. His light washed denim jeans resting on his hips, his button down shirt open to reveal his tan, chiseled six pack, his bedroom green eyes – so inviting and warm – and his light brown, shaggy, soft hair begging to be combed through, why would she hesitate?

Her chain of thoughts was broken by his silky voice. "I don't bite," he whispered into her ear.

Swallowing her fear, she closed her eyes as he kissed her on the lips. His lips soft and his breath warm, she loosened up. Just as she began to meld to the touch of his hand cupping her face, she became very aware of his hands moving to her hips and her body levitating off the ground. "Andy," she laughed, having been hoisted up onto the small table provided for the homeowners to enjoy tea while watching the vast greenery of the rolling hills in the morning or late evening.

Daria didn't get much more out as he reconnected his lips with hers. Daria trailed her hands from his bare chest to rest around his neck naturally after he had closed the small space between them. His one hand creeping up and up, closer to her breast, Daria pulled away. Keeping eye contact, she returned his straying hand back to its spot at her hips.

"I believe dinner and a movie are to provided before you can even _think_ about going there," she smirked.

"Hey, I invited you to a party with food. I think that should count," he countered, cheekily.

"The fact I came _should_ be enough." Daria guided his hand back to her hips, again; a look of frustration forming in the corners of her mouth.

Kissing her again, he breathed, "And what if it's not?" He pressed her to him, locking lips with her before she could answer. Forfeiting the idea of moving his hands upwards, he let them slide to the hem of her skirt, a sole digit digging under her skirt. Daria snatched his hand, her self-confidence waning. Suddenly, she was no longer sure of having followed him up to a vacant room – no longer sure that she should have left Jane – no longer sure that she should have had any drinks. A voice that sounded trusting, monotone yet feminine, screamed inside her mind to flee.

His hand had slid over her skirt and to her butt, and Daria stiffened. When had be broken from her grasp? She was vaguely acute to him having mentioned of going to somewhere more comfortable; Daria's heartbeat faster and faster.

-Daria-

Jane thumped up the stairs, a soda in one hand as the other braced the young artist using the banister. The whole upstairs hallway was carpeted in a soft green. Angry, Jane was greeted by two long corridors going in opposite directions. Choosing to go right, first, Jane deliberated if it was a good idea to knock on the closed bedroom doors. There was a reason they were closed. Before knocking on the first door on her left, she spotted a room with light that was filtering through a small crack left by an unclosed door down the hall.

Jane moseyed over, entering slowly and begging not to be interrupting anyone. The room turned out to be some type of study or small library, which is why it was probably empty. No lights were on, so the light that was peeking into the dimly lit hallway was coming from outside. The study was illuminated by two glass veranda doors that opened to a balcony. There, Jane discovered two people making out rather intensely.

Her facial recognition kicking in, Jane dropped her soda on the champagne colored carpet. Not caring about the forming stain, she made a beeline to Daria and the guy she was with. Upon getting closer, Jane could hear them faintly.

"I don't think . . ." Daria mumbled.

"Hey, don't be so tense," coaxed the young man, guiding Daria's legs to wrap around him for leverage. He was about to lift her off the table when Jane stepped out onto the balcony.

"Hey, there you are," she said with a faux southern accent. The couple turning to Jane, two different expressions greeted her: relief and annoyance.

Daria untangled herself and scooted off the table. Her petite frame hit the cement balcony with a small _thump._ Unsteady, both the man and Jane caught Daria. Daria watched the room teeter-totter for a couple seconds before leveling.

Jane quickly jerked Daria from the guy's grip, addressing her friend. "We need to go. It's getting late."

"I'm not ready to leave," she said with a whine.

"You don't have to leave." The light haired, young man made a motion to retrieve Daria when Jane maneuvered herself between the two.

"Andy, I think I'm going to get some air. I'm not feeling well," Daria absently added. "Maybe we can pick up later, 'kay?" she mused lightly like a small child.

Jane watched his shoulders slump from their predatory pronouncement of puffing his chest out to a softer relaxed position. Jane knew running wasn't an option. Daria was in no state to run. And it was too high to push the guy over the balcony without killing him. Why couldn't they have been on the first floor?

"I'll roll the windows down in the car," Jane muttered, taking steps backward with Daria into the study. Like watching a hungry tiger, Jane's eyes never strayed from the young man.

"Hey, don't make her go home if she doesn't want to. The party is still going," he cooed.

Jane's muscled tightened in fear. She didn't know him. But, Tom knew him so he couldn't be the asshole-creeper he was posing to be, could he?

Jane collided into to Daria and she was forced to see why her friend had stopped moving. There, another man stood, identical looking to the one they had been conversing with.

"Ricky, let'em go," the new comer demanded. Jane looked dumbfound. Who was Ricky?

"We're just talking," Ricky explained, ending with a charismatic smile.

"Why don't you go refill the snack table, we're running low on chips and stuff," the young man, who had just arrived, continued without missing a beat.

Jane watched the two guys, which she determined were identical twins, glower at each other. Caught between the brothers' stand-off, Jane felt more uneasy than when she was alone with Ricky.

"Why don't you, Andy?" Ricky retaliated.

"I'm helping Daria's friend get her to her car, dumbass. She doesn't look so well," Andy countered, raising his voice.

Snorting like an angry bull, Ricky blew past the trio. He turned back at Daria's interjection. "Hey, you aren't . . . Andy? You're an asshole!" Chuckling at Daria's outburst, Ricky left the study. "He is," Daria persisted, looking between Jane and Andy as if they needed to be convinced.

Jane starred in disbelief at her compadre. _Were you on another planet this whole time?_ Jane thought, looking at Daria, who looked extremely vexed at having been fooled by Ricky into believing he was Andy, completely oblivious to having been almost taken advantage of by a stranger.

-Daria-

Andy proved kind enough, helping Jane walk Daria down the steps to the main floor. "He's not a bad guy, my brother," Andy told Jane.

Jane shrugged. She knew that as his sibling he needed to justify Ricky's actions. Jane understood that because she felt that way about the Lane Clan, always needing to explain her brothers and sisters to people.

They were in front of the large, mahogany wood, front door. "Thanks," Jane said grateful. She released her grip on Daria, testing if her friend was okay to walk on her own. Daria stood, still in a cloud.

He opened the door for them, Jane waved leaving first. Hearing her footsteps only, she turned around to see Daria kissing Andy. Climbing back up the front steps she yanked the young Morgendorffer away.

"Chill," Daria commanded. "I was just saying good-bye," she slurred.

Andy stood dumbstruck, his lips having been part of a hit-and-run French kiss. Waving absently, Andy watched the girls cross to the front lawn, a goofy, love struck smile plastered on his face.

Daria wriggled her hand free from Jane's clasp. "I don't want to go."

"Are you kidding me?" Jane complained. "We're leaving."

"All right, checkmate, whatever. I get it – bad choice on my part. But, I got some air, and I want to go back in. I was having fun," Daria argued. Jane was near ripping her hair out. Her speech impaired, her walk undignified, and mind numb from the booze, Jane wanted to shake the sense back into Daria. Still, Jane restrained herself.

"You weren't having fun, you were getting trashed!" Jane corrected, moving to grab Daria's arm and drag her to her car.

Moving at the last second for Jane to miss, Daria fired back, "You go, if you want to leave. I thought artists loved to go to parties." Daria made a startling discovery, voicing it aloud. "I don't have my purse."

"Of course you don't, you had me stow it in the car hours ago," Jane informed her, making another go to get Daria back home.

"I told you to just go," Daria hollered. "I feel fine, and if I don't, I'll crash here. Andy will be fine with it."

_I'm sure he will. I'm also sure he'll be fine with you or his brother sharing their bed with you, _Jane thought to herself, her anger flaring. "I can't!"

"Why not?" Daria asked, flailing her arms back.

"Because you're my best friend!"

"But, you're not mine!" Daria's eyes popped. The Raft student shook her head, trying to take it back. But, it was too late. "Jane . . ."

Jane stopped breathing and her world froze. She put a hand up as she tried to swallow the small ball of tacks that had collected in her throat. The oppression of sadness filled the space between the two college girls. The light that came from the house still casted it's brilliance on them and that's when Jane and Daria caught on to the fact that Andy had not shut the front door, yet.

On display for Andy and the small crowd that had gathered were Daria and Jane. Mortified, Daria looked away, red from yelling and now, from public humiliation.

"Let's go," Daria murmured. Losing her balance, she stumble a couple of feet before standing to full hilt again. Wordlessly, Jane complied and led the way to Trent's old, blue, beat-up car.

Unnoticed, Tom Sloane watched his ex-girlfriends leave the party; so puzzled by the scene and Daria's new image that Tom's feet refused to move until his mind resettled and functioned at its correct rate.

-Daria-

The ride was deathly silent. Jane focused on the yellow tandem lines on the road. Street lights dotted the car passing underneath. Daria looked out the passenger window, searching to see if anyone would be awake this early in the morning. Her nausea and dizziness having dissipated, Daria glanced at the small digital clock. Two-thirty in the morning. Jane sat stoic in the driver's seat. Mechanically, relying on her auto-pilot memory, she returned Daria back to the Morgendorffer residence.

_**Because you're my best friend!**_

_**But, you're not mine!**_

Those words replayed themselves over and over in Jane's head.

"The party wasn't over," Daria said, tentative. The eldest Morgendorffer had been dragged away from the party, most unceremoniously and for that, Daria expected some type of apology. "I mean we couldn't stay after the whole scene, but . . ." her words died out as she glimpsed Jane's eyes. As trained as Jane thought she had muted her expression, Daria could _feel_ the pain and hurt her words had caused.

The BFAC student stopped the car, its brakes squealing. Daria opened the door and stepped out. She turned to talk through the open passenger's window. "I'm sorry. Um, thanks for the Ricky-thing, too." Daria knew that what she said was spoken from a moment of heated frustration and anger, but even so, she regretted hurting someone who didn't deserve it. "I know you were helping, but . . . maybe we should take a break or something."

For the first time, Jane faced her long time friend. _She's breaking up with me? A kiss off after all I've done. Fine._

Daria shut the door, turning back to see her friend leave. Her wave good-bye went limp as Jane hit the accelerator so hard that the back wheels spun before launching the car forward. Daria winced as the car raced off. She zigzagged unsteadily to the house, with as much poise as she could muster.

-Daria—

Palming along the wall, Daria slowly ascended the stairs. The house was quiet and dark, the ticking of the kitchen clock resonating into the front hall and up the stairs. Daria continued to use the wall as a guide and leverage. Unfamiliar with the house layout, still, she lost her balance at one of the bedroom doors unprepared for the wall to stop momentarily. Stumbling until she caught herself on her hands and knees, Daria gasped at the sound of someone moving. Behind her Quinn poked her head out of her room. Relieved she had only woken her sister, Daria appreciatively accepted Quinn's help to stand.

"Hey, what are you doing home so late? Do you know what time it is?" Quinn hissed.

Daria wobbled, finding her balance she turned to Quinn. "Sorry, Clogsworth, but let's not tell Beast," Daria hushed, putting her finger to her mouth for emphasis. Even when trying to be serious, Daria couldn't stop a few bubbles of laughter from escaping.

Quinn put her hands on her hips, not amused in the least. Helping Daria to her bedroom, Daria shook her head, pointing to the guest bedroom. Quinn made a noise of disgust and redirected her. "Did you seriously go to that party?" Quinn pressed.

"No, Bat Girl had a stomach virus and so George Clooney asked me to stand in," Daria retorted. She grasped the door handle, feeling the room unexpectedly tilt.

"Haha," Quinn snorted, crossing her arms. "You know because of you I'm not allowed to go on my cruise."

"Why?" Daria asked, genuinely intrigued.

"Because mom thinks you need to be babysat," snipped, realizing that perhaps her mom was right, based off what Quinn was seeing right then. Watching her older sister sway, Quinn narrowed her eyes. "Are you drunk?" The future Pepperhill student made a move to come closer, but desisted as she watched Daria covered her mouth.

Daria dropped her hand, the wave of sickness gone. "No, now if you're done with questioning me, inspector, I'm going to bed." Daria opened the door enough for her and her _only_ to enter. Slamming the door behind her, Quinn heard Daria throw up. Quinn quickly searched and listened for any movement that her parents might have woken from the bang of the door closing or Daria puking.

"Daria," she called through the door.

"I'm fine," Daria said, adamantly. "I made it to the waste basket. I'm fine, Quinn. Go to bed."Quinn hesitated before leaving. _Is she asking me to go because she wants to be left alone or so I won't get caught if she does? _Quinn pushed aside the boiling feeling of anger and confusion down. Daria was safe – sort of – and at home; more importantly, her parents were still sleeping.

-Daria-

Still early in summer, the cool air hung with the one-time track star. Jane started down Williams Street, trotting to a stop when she saw a slender redhead. "What are you doing up so early? Won't this interfere with your beauty sleep regiment?"

Quinn had parked herself against a blue convertible. Wearing a Pepperhill hoodie, Quinn said evenly, "You let her come home wasted."

Jane stopped bouncing from one foot to the other, having been an ill attempt to keep her heart pumping. At the mention of the night prior, Jane looked irritated. Walking over to Quinn, who stood away from the car, Jane sneered. "I didn't _let_ her come home wasted. I could have left her there," Jane pointed out.

"What if my parents found her like that? I would have been to blame because I knew about the party," Quinn continued, ignoring Jane. Jane was panting, trying to calm her breath. The crisp morning filled their lung with prickly oxygen, small swirls of white heat twisting up to the sky as they each spoke.

"So, you shouldn't have to babysit her," Jane said flatly.

"Listen, you don't – what?" Quinn began. Quinn watched Jane, a look of skepticism sketched on her face.

"She knows right from wrong. Trust me," Jane confirmed, wiping away some sweat that had coated her forehead. Quinn could see a flash of hurt and knew that the artist meant something beyond her comprehension. They were not friends by nature and so Quinn didn't press Jane to explain exactly what she meant.

Silence filled the air, the sun progressing into a bright morning. "So, what do we do now?" Quinn asked.

Jane stood, crestfallen at the reality of their situation. Jane no longer wanted to be a part of the quest to help Daria. She was still working through the night before her.

_**BECAUSE YOU'RE MY BEST FRIEND!**_

_**BUT, YOU'RE NOT MINE!**_

It was like an unwelcomed mantra. Jane tried to brush it away, but the words hammered away the thick lie Jane had scaffold her mental barriers with. Jane was not "this" Daria's best friend. The Daria, who wore contacts instead of glasses, was a different person. A fear so strong struck Jane; the artist momentarily stopped breathing, choking in reflex. "We?" Jane strained, recovering from her faint dizziness.

"Yeah . . . do we . . . just give up?" Quinn posed, her voice softening. The redhead stuffed her hands into the pouch of her hoodie, trying to keep warm. Although, it was supposed to be sunny and hot, right now it was frigid and lonely.

"I don't know," Jane lamented. She looked at the tar, scuffing her running sneakers along the street. She didn't want to share what happened last night. She just wanted – she just wanted to run.

Quinn's eyes bulged. This _was_ Jane Lane. Quinn felt her hope crumble into a pile at feet. Her parents were oblivious and Daria was no help, since she was the problem. Jane was older and smarter. She was supposed to have the answers. Since when was Quinn to sit on the pedestal by herself? In a tone of commanded, she planted herself, "We can't give up."

Jane's head shot up, as if seeing Quinn for the first time. Sighing, Jane tossed out, "What do you suppose, captain?"

Quinn tucked in her bottom lip to chew. She hadn't expected to be given leadership – frankly, she didn't want it. Uncertain, she spoke, "This isn't working – working solo." Jane listened intently. Quinn continued, "So, maybe we need to work together." Jane crossed her arms over her chest, incredulously. Quinn didn't even seem confident in her own idea, but yet, Jane was supposed to blindly follow and possibly put herself back in the line of fire? Jane was leery, to say the least, of Quinn's plan.

Quinn looked at Jane expectantly. If Jane refused to help then Quinn would have nothing. Her hope and faith that she would right everything was contingent of the artist. Minutes passed as the two of them stood there silent.

Jane closed her eyes. Could she really continue to drag herself through this? Wasn't there some type of clause in the Contract of Friendship that she was exempt from due to emotional distress?

Jane sighed, "All right, I'll help."

~ End Chapter 4

**I hope the length made up for the lack of updating. **

**Also, please leave a review. I greatly appreciate the feedback given.**


	5. Chapter 5

April 22, 2011

**A/N: So, this has been a long time coming, I know. We last left off with a deplorable mess between friends and family. Quinn was cut at the knees by the clever and sassy wit of her sister. Frustrated, Quinn abandoned Daria with Jane. Feeling an intense obligation to help her long time and closest friend to help her, she followed Daria to a party Daria had been invited. A mistake Jane would be haunted with for weeks to come. The event came to an exploding ending with Daria uttering the dreaded words that Jane in the deepest depths of her mind feared, "But, you're not mine!" referring to their friendship. Despite all that, Jane begrudgingly decides to work with Quinn, her former adversary, for the greater cause - to help Daria. The two hanging on to threads of hope. Will they succeed? I guess we'll find out now, and so I present chapter 5 of 'If Nothing Else' . . .**

Chapter 5: When Reality Sets In

Jane arrived back at Casa Lane, sweat leaving rivulets down the sides of her face. Running had always made her feel more relaxed and clear of mind, yet, she couldn't say that this time. Walking up to the house, she uncovered the spare key from under the worn welcome mat. The familiar rumbling of Trent's car floated through the streets. The musician clamored out of his car and stepped besides his sister, waiting for her to open the front door.

"How was your run?"

"Eh, not my best." Jane shrugged, replacing the key back under the mat. Looking at her brother, carrying his guitar case, she asked, "Late practice?"

"Or early," he answered back. Trent discarded his case as he walked into the living room and flopped on the couch. "You all right, Janie?"

Although she loved her brother and appreciated his concern, the last thing Jane wanted to do was talk about the party, Quinn, or Daria. Actually, for the past two weeks since the incident outside Andy and Ricky's place, Jane had contemplated hibernating like a bear until she would emerge with a better life or had to move back to Boston for another semester of classes, whichever came first.

Despite agreeing to help Quinn, Jane made no move to contact Quinn, feeling guilty but content to leave much of the scheming to the younger Morgendorffer.

-Daria-

Quinn listened to Daria gab on the phone. Rolling her eyes as her sister giggled into the receiver. The familiar click of the conversation ending, her sister returned to the kitchenette table where Quinn was munching on her cereal.

"Who was that?" she asked, feigning genuine interest.

Daria retrieved a muffin that she had her mother buy from the bakery and heated it in the microwave. Quinn slowly crunched her cereal, scrutinizing her sister's every move and blatant decision not to answer her. Admittedly, Quinn had resisted spending time with Daria after being forcibly made to not go on her cruise. Sure, some would counter it that Quinn's big mouth had placed her out of the good graces of her parents, but still hot-headed, Quinn thought completely different.

Her plate scrapped against the small table. Quinn's eyebrows furrowed, knowing that Daria was being painfully slow to spite her. With strength unfamiliar to her, Quinn could feel her spoon withering under her grip.

Finished with her first bite of her muffin, Daria took a sip of her caramel latte. "Andy invited me to go sailing on his family's yacht in two weeks."

"Mom will never allow you to go. The doctor hasn't given you permission to do half the things you've done this past couple of weeks."

Daria examined the bottom half of her coffee cake muffin, choosing it was not worth the effort finishing; she discarded it in the trash. Quinn huffed, seeing her throw out half her breakfast. She considered pointing out her sister's decreasing appetite, but reconsidered. Quinn had work and so thought better then to arrive riled up.

"See ya," Daria called over her shoulder. "Oh, and don't tell mom about the yacht thing. I mean, I'd hate for you to ruin your record," she tittered, referring to Quin's absolute silence of Daria's late night activities: motorcycle rides, go-carts, carnivals with roller coasters! - and of course, seeing a different guy every night.

Quinn growled, recounting all her sister had done, especially since Quinn had been working nine to five all week. It wasn't until Daria closed the front door that Quinn noticed the spoon was in the shape of an obtuse bell curve. "Son of a . . ."

-Daria-

"_Daria may never retain all of her memories. To be honest Mr. and Mrs. Morgendorffer, Daria may never move past the little progress she has made. As the time lapse between the accident and her recovery increases the chances of her creating any new or old links with her past becomes dramatically minimal." _

That's what he said. Dr. Phillips prognosis was bleak and unfavorable to anyone in the Morgendorffer household. "She may never gain her memory back," Quinn repeated staring at the canopy cover of her bed, having woken up to the sun's feverish stare. Her features hardening, she declared, "No, I can't give up."

-Daria-

The wind howled and hammered into the blue Lexus. Driving with unrivaled determination, Quinn and Daria traveled to a place that Quinn deemed a well of memories – good ones. The yellow and orange dusted earth was bitterly welcoming.

June was merciful as the wind tangled and raced around the two young women. Daria relieved herself from her lounging position: feet on the dash, seat reclined back, and sunglasses hiding half her face. Quinn stalked to the opened passenger door, tapping her foot with ticks of impatience as she waited for Daria to exit the vehicle.

The saloon style bar greeted the two latest arrivals with heavy cigar smoke. Crackling of billiard balls jackhammer-ing into each other played the ominous music to the scene that was to ensue. Weather-worn wood paneled the place. Stained round tables littered the joint. A rough skinned man, with a yellow-tainted, white cowboy hat and red hankerchief greeted the two young and out-of-place women.

"Can I help you, ladies?" he snickered.

Quinn gulped down the swell of fear sloshing about her very being. "I was wondering – looking for some country singer," she queried. Gurgled grunts, wolf whistles, and some obscene comments pierced the air.

"Little lady, that's like asking if any of these gents own a gun," the barkeep answered, hacking up some unidentifiable phlegm.

From the corner of her eye Quinn observed Daria flinch and wriggled her nose in disgust. "Right," Quinn answered, turning to leave. Daria followed closely behind. When the two reached the car, Quinn leaned against the hood and sighed. _Why can't this have worked out? I wish I could have remembered his name._

"What was that place?" Daria asked; the look of repulse still painted on her face. Daria promptly huffed, crossing her arms across her chest and forcefully creating a small ditch with her black and white sneakers.

Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose and cracked a whipped on her brain to think fast. "Got it!" Quinn cried out, startling Daria.

It had taken an additional forty-five minutes, but Quinn was determined to trigger a memory from Daria that redirected her sister from this _Waif_ mindless-model person she was becoming )sort of, since she was still rather smart) to her old, boring self.

Daria slowly lent her legs over the side of the car to meticulously take in the western style county jail. "You think that cute cowboy, we had given a ride that one time, is in jail?" Daria posed to her younger sister.

"No, Jane and her brother's band were stuck here –"

"They're criminals!"

"No! They just had remained there until they were able to pay for a speeding ticket. Not everyone who has served is innately bad, Daria. God, give people a chance," Quinn snipped.

Daria jerked back from the snap of Quinn's remark. Walking inside, they viewed the homely county jail like two educated art critics. A few small cells with plain bunk beds starred back. A simple desk with two officers working filled the center. Two brown benches waited across from the desk for people to occupy them. Seeing the deputy awkwardly rest his chin to his chest like a crutch so he could snooze gave Quinn one last spark of inspiration.

It had taken the two young women another thirty minutes farther from their home to reach Quinn's latest destination. Arriving at the small cubical-looking banquet room, Quinn bolted from the car with exuberant energy. _This is it_! Quin cheerfully thought. Daria stepped out of the car groaning and grumbling. "I don't remember signing-up for the town tour of 'Gun Smoke'. "

Quinn's glistening smile wavered at the comment. Hastily grabbing her sister's wrist, she dragged Daria from one empty room to another. Stopping at the last room, Quinn moved to the spots Jane had branded the children's faces, hands, and arms with temporary tattoos at the sheriff's daughter's birthday party – in exchange for their "freedom."

After a second or two, Daria's unimpressed and vacant eyes met Quinn's; the redhead dropped her outspread arms. "Nothing?" Quinn whimpered, almost pleading.

Her hands loosely swaying at her side, Quinn sulked in her own thoughts as they retraced their steps back to the car.

_I would have thought this would have triggered a memory. We worked together as a team that day, one of the few times we actually were friendly and amiable to each other. Even though I never told her, I really liked our rebellious outing. It was a slice of similarity, a moment that Daria and I could connect as sisters. This was good memory, damn it!_

Quinn robotically started the car, clicking her seatbelt into place. "Since this was a bust, let's go shopping to help liven up this day," Daria suggested.

Touched to see Daria acknowledge her disappointment, the high school graduate knew she didn't have the time. "I can't. I have work at one o'clock."

" . . . Quinn," Daria began weakly, "it's three o'clock."

Vanilla ice cream pale, Quinn's eyes located the digital clock. "Shit!" That was the last straw. Daria maneuvered to press her back to the car door. Quinn in animalistic squawks and ape fist pounding beat the steering wheel. "Mr. Sorentino is going to fire me!"

"For missing one day of work?" Daria threw out, her eyebrows high in skepticism.

"Yes . . . I mean no, it will have been my third time," Quinned hitched. Taking a moment to collect herself, she lightly drew a delicate, but shaky finger across her eyes to glide away any fleeting mascara.

The drive home was deplorable. Daria hinted to shop, scour for cute hitch hikers, and go off-roading of all things. Some suggestions Quinn believed were not real suggestions, but ways for Daria to cheer up her sister. Yet, none suited Quinn in forms of comfort. The trivial prods to make her laugh were juvenile. What Quinn truly wanted was that monotone, detached, monk wisdom Daria would let seep out to those smart enough to listen.

She needed a sister – her sister! Not a superficial friend.

-Daria-

Tom Sloane cautiously entered Pizza Prince. High school students were parked in booths, two teenagers riled up from an arcade game in the back corner of the parlor. Tom's entrance was given away as the bell chimed above him as he entered. The recently-turned- college sophomore' eyes bugged when he was hailed by none other than Jane Lane, herself. He sauntered over to the booth precariously accessorized with two slices of pizza and two adjoining sodas for each of them. "Okay, I'm going to be honest. I was a little freaked to hear your voice when I answered the phone." Tom eased into the opposing bench, pleasantly surprised that Jane remembered his favorite selection of pizza, pepperoni.

"Well, I wasn't expecting to call you anytime . . . ever," Jane retorted. Seeing the frown and thump of pain her words caused, Jane apologized. "Sorry, that was a cheap shot. I guess I just want someone to feel just as crappy as me."

"It's all right. I deserve it for how things ended up."

"Water under the bridge," Jane cut it. There were uncomfortable couple seconds of silence when Tom took the reins and proceeded to carry them through mundane small talk.

While neither Jane nor Tom had made any efforts to stay friends, the former Fielding Prep student believed he was asked to their old hang out for an important reason. Having shuffled through all sorts of casual topics, Tom grew bored and decided to delve into the real problem. It only took some gentle nudging for Jane to spew all the details to Tom, including _that _night at the party.

After listening, Tom sighed, "Wow, I certainly wasn't expecting that, but I'm glad Daria is okay."

"You're acting like I just announced we lost a football game instead –"

"of a best friend," Tom finished with a nervous chuckle. "I understand and empathize, Jane. I felt the same way when Daria and I broke up; losing someone very special; even though, you know that she isn't really gone, just not available to you any longer. That is the way I looked at it. It's not the most optimistic, but – hey what do you expect from a diehard realist, right?" Tom compiled his trash onto his plate. "I, also, know that there is nothing you or Quinn can do – you said it yourself. I wish I could do more for you." Tom disposed of both their empty plates and cups. When he returned Jane sat in a deserted trance. "I'm really sorry, Jane. This sounds cliché, but things will get better. I know you called me in a headlong attempt to discover another, more favorable solution, but I have none that were not already spoken. I'm available if you want to talk. I really did enjoy hanging out again, Jane." Tom cupped his hands in her free one and gently squeezed.

Tom let the entrance door sluggishly close behind him, the small bell a testament that it was no longer opened; the same could be said for his past. Knowing that Daria had suffered a head injury that morphed her into someone irrefutably different . . . and normal, it was the fatal shot of his old life. Tom very much wanted to look back, but knew he would only suffer more knowing his former existence was truly extinct.

Jane watched Tom leave from the smudgy, large window of the pizza restaurant. Perhaps it was the greasy pizza that resulted in Jane wanting to vomit, though, something deep inside told her it was the haze of denial evaporating. As Jane was plowed over with realization her best friend was gone, tears of forlornness welled in her eyes.

-Daria-

_If he wasn't cute, I'd weasel my way out of ever coming here, _Daria thought, swinging her legs giddily over the edge of the hospital bed.

"Is that so?" Helen queried. Perhaps it was the first real thing Daria could clearly hear, or maybe, it was the tone of worry in her mother's voice, but suddenly, Daria was in tuned to the conversation happening outside her room she was currently sitting in, waiting for the last of her test results to process.

She supposed she could creep closer to better hear, since the door, for privacy reasons, was only cracked open. Yet, she didn't want anyone to suspect she was listening in on the conversation.

"I'm afraid so. Still, Daria has maintained a lot of her academic smarts and so I feel she will most assuredly be able to continue at Raft University this fall."

"That's fantastic!" Jake exclaimed.

"Jake!" Helen clipped.

"What?" he whined, turning to his wife as she meticulously deliberated the color shade of the linoleum floor.

"There is nothing more we can do to encourage her?" Helen continued, ignoring her husband. Helen watched the young, handsome doctor flip through some test results just handed to him by a petite nurse. The doctor was mute for a couple of minutes, thoroughly cross-examining the information when he looked back up to address Helen and Jake. Dr. Philips shook his head 'no.'

"Like I've said before, Mrs. Morgendorffer, Daria has fully recovered physically since when the accident happened a little over a month ago. And it seems her recovery has expanded to her mentally as well. I highly and sincerely doubt she will make any more progress."

Seeing the disheartened looks, Dr. Philips bid his goodbye. "I'll leave you alone. Daria is free to go when she pleases."

The Morgendorffers murmured their goodbyes, before resting into an unsettling silence. "Helen, I thought you would like Daria more conventional." Jake broached after working everything through his noggin.

"I did, too. Yet, Daria was like an unforgiving, constant, truth. Her uniqueness attracted the better people to her . . . and the better of people," Helen sighed.

"You'll still love her, right?" Jake asked, his voice pitchy.

"Of course! It will just be different, that's all. But, not any less," Helen assured.

Daria's feet stopped swaying. Looking at her thin hands, she looked back at herself in the mirror. She focused and for a split second a superimposed image of a woman identical to herself appeared; except she was wearing thick framed glasses. This "twin" seemed to scowl disapprovingly at her. Daria blinked and she was gone.

-Daria-

Quinn, Stacy, Sandi, and Tiffany sat on a picnic blanket outside on Tiffany's backyard. Quinn's punishment had been revoked two weeks later, and despite losing her tutoring job a week ago, the normally perky redhead had narrowly evaded a return grounding.

Stacy swirled the ice cubes in her glass with her straw, the frozen water clanking against the cup. Tiffany finished her question, eyes lulling to sleep given the warm, soothing weather. "That's great, Quinn," she droned, "but how come you're not happy?"

Quinn poked at the potato salad on her plate with little determination to finish the food. She shrugged, the truth bouncing aggressively in her head like a free, flowing rubber ball.

"I think, for one, that your sister's appearance and attitude are a positive change. I would almost say that she is acceptable to be considered a fashion club member had we not disbanded," Sandi threw in. "Not to raise suspicions against you, Quinn; since I'm sure your concerns are sincere and altruistic, but what reasons would you have to want to change her to her previously unpopular and sad state. Unless – I don't know – you are threatened by her?"

Quinn furrowed her eyebrows at the obvious dig. "No, that's not it, Sandi. I'm not into such shallow things."

The four girls stopped, their breaths hitching at Quinn's last statement. Even Quinn, herself, was surprised with the naturalness of the words that flowed from her.

"Really?" Tiffany questioned, suddenly stirred from her comatose-like state.

The high school graduates parted their ways soon after, Quinn's declaration giving birth to an uncomfortable atmosphere. Sandi hopped in her beetle and sped away, while Tiffany withdrew into her house. Stacy and Quinn walked back to the Morgendorffer home, mostly in quiet understanding.

"You okay, Quinn?" Stacy interrupted after walking mostly in quiet.

"No."

Stacy scraped her sneakers along the sidewalk as they continued. It was very clear why Quinn was upset. Still, Stacy quivered to approach the subject her best friend had been dancing around all day.

"It's just not fair!" Quinn gesticulated, almost swatting Stacy in the arm.

They were arriving at Quinn's house where Stacy would continue another block before crossing the street to her house three doors down. As the duo stopped to say goodbye, Stacy breached Quinn's tirade on Sandi's attitude, surprising the former vice president.

"Quinn, I think you maybe avoiding the real issue. My father says that most times when people are mad at something, they're really mad at something else."

Quinn blink a few times, a 'huh' look evident on her flawless features. Stacy cleared her throat, "When I left the fashion club I was confused because what I thought I knew changed and so I felt lost. I had to change myself even though I wasn't sure how. Then when I started to feel confident in this new person I didn't even realize had emerged, we all decided to have weekly hang outs."

Seeing the hard expression of Quinn's face, the intensity of her eyes to understand Stacy, the brunette took a breath and continued. "So, all of a sudden I was back to this place that I thought was a good place to be – but wasn't – and it wasn't the same. I tried to be the same and it wasn't until I realized the Fashion Club was different because _we_ were different people that I respected what we were and who I had changed into as a result. I had become someone better – someone I truly liked. Do you get what I'm trying to say, Quinn?"

A beat passed between the two friends before Quinn responded, her mind having finished deciphering Stacy's rambling. "God, Stacy, I know that the ending of the fashion club was traumatic, but honestly! I'm dealing with something a little more important than something that happened in high school. I mean, what does it even matter now? We're still friends!" Quinn shrieked. With that, she briskly walked into her home.

"Quinn! Wait!" Stacy yelled, stepping forward. The door slammed, and the young, pigtailed girl stopped her pursuit. "That's not what I meant," she exhaled with a groan.

-Daria-

"Huh," Jane huffed, having finished listening to Quinn recap her end of their crusade to help Daria regain her memory. Quinn stopped her pacing, pausing to absorb Jane's pensiveness.

"What do you mean 'huh'?" Quinn asked, breathlessly. "It doesn't matter," she ushered on, "I figure if we can pin point some more valuable locations –"

"No."

"then we may have some viable lead to nurture – wait – what do you mean 'no'?" Quinn halted. Jane uncrossed her legs, only to cross them again; she leaned back on her bed, eyeing the frazzled girl in front of her.

Although Jane had only woken two hours ago, she was chewing on everything Quinn had said. It just tasted of hurt and pain. Jane didn't want any part of it. "I mean that I'm done, Quinn."

"You can't be done!" Quinn screeched, making quick advances toward artist.

Sensing danger, the youngest Lane rose now able to look down at the younger Morgendorffer. "Was there a contract I had signed without my knowledge saying I would be your slave to this futile cause? Because I don't recall being asked to give my John Hancock in blood anywhere."

"How can you say that?" Quinn blurted out. "I thought we were in this together!"

"Quinn," Jane started, her voice descending into sorrow, "she's not coming back – you said it yourself on the phone last week."

"I said our window was closing – not that we didn't have a shot. Although with your shitty attitude we might as well pack it in!" Quinn was beginning to match her hair as Jane's eyes darkened. "What kind of friend are you?"

"A damn good one, missy. I've done everything and then some. Look who's talking!" Quinn opened her mouth, but Jane sped up. "Let's face it, Quinn. You don't want Daria back for Daria, but yourself. This new Daria has pushed you out and off the hill you settled on. She shook your world and now you're lost. You defined yourself against Daria and now you have nothing. How does it feel? This isn't for Daria, but to bring your world back to its morphine state. It's about time you come off that cloud of denial and wake up. Daria – the Daria we knew – is gone . . . finite . . . she is not coming back. Ever." Quinn's lips quivered as Jane lost her composure. It was the most grueling and memorizing thing Quinn watched. Jane was crying.

Quinn sputtered for a minute then said, "If you give up now, then you give up your friendship. Can you live with that?" Quinn had nothing and in her weighted lips and tipped eyebrows, Quinn knew that Jane had already come to terms with her decision. The redhead hitched a breath then stormed out. _'She's wrong! I'm not defined by Daria. I'm Quinn Morgendorffer the . . . the . . ."_ words that use to nestle happily into the plains of her mind wriggled to fit in their normal spots. Without a home, they gently floated up and away from her, and out of her grasp.

~End Chapter 5


	6. Chapter 6

May 16, 2011

**A/N: Surprise! Another chapter update, and so soon. In the last chapter, Quinn makes a final go-about to help Daria, only to come up short. A rolling snow ball grows when Stacy tries to help Quinn and also falls short. Unfortunately, when Quinn comes to Jane with a plea for help, she is sadly rejected. Jane having sought help from none other than Tom! There she came to the horrid conclusion - she quit. Of course, the redhead princess was no fan of the decision as Jane slammed her with the reality check that her intentions may not be pure. So, with really nothing more to say, the story continues . . .**

Chapter 6: Mirror Check

Quinn watched a blue bird twitter to its friends, showily flying about. She sighed and picked up the receiver of her pink, fury land line telephone. With a few flicks of her fingers, the old familiar _bring, bring_ of the phone line connecting a call called back to her.

"Hello," came the calm, breezy voice of Erin, her cousin.

Quinn choked on her words for several seconds then sputtered, "Hey Erin. How are you?" The red head could feel Erin put a hand on her hip and look rather unimpressed with her faux cheeriness.

"Quinn," Erin said, much like Helen would when she wanted the truth, "what's going on?"

"I need some advice," Quinn answered, her voice dropping. The younger Morgendorffer wrapped her finger aimlessly around the telephone line. Exhaling so her bangs flipped up, Quinn closed her eyes. "I'm sure you know about Daria's head injury-thing. Well, I've run out of ideas. My mother and I aren't really on speaking terms and my father – well, let's not go there, so I'm reaching out. You're smart, Erin, any suggestions?"

Erin breathed into the receiver and Quinn's stomach clenched. Erin had no answer . . . or did she? After a metaphorical centuries' worth of time, Erin spoke. "Quinn, I don't know if I have any probable solutions. But, thanks for the intelligence compliment. I don't hear that too much on my end. Why don't you tell me step-by-step what you have done so far, and I'll see if I can help, okay?"

Quinn nodded, despite Erin's inability to see her. It had taken more time than Quinn had estimated to explain the last month to her cousin; though, thirty days worth of time was a lot of time, if you thought about it. When Quinn finished she was exhausted. She had never retold anything so fast or ran a marathon of emotions like that before.

Erin huffed and Quinn could hear Erin tap her foot in thought. "You seem to have covered it all, Quinn. I am sorry that Jane ditched you." Quinn was about to give her gratitude to Erin for her time, but Erin rushed to cut in. "You say that you have showed Daria memories – good ones – but, what about the bad ones? I don't mean to overstep here, but you two were not the most compatible of sisters. I imagine you had more bad memories than tender ones. I know you may not like to revisit scenes from your past that showed both of your uglier sides, but . . ."Quinn dragged her hand down her face, her stomach growling in aggravation at the expected failure of that venture, not to mention the pain and embarrassment that would surface. "Quinn? Are you still there?" Erin asked worried Quinn had hung up on her.

"Yeah, I'm here. Thanks again, Erin. I'll try it," Quinn said disheartened at the results.

"Okay," Erin replied meekly, "Let me know how it turns out, okay?"

"Okay." Quinn hung up and snapped into a laying position on her stomach, hiding her tear stained face.

-Daria-

Jane was walking the sides of Dega Street, perusing the window displays of the down trotted shops in the lesser appraised parts of Lawndale. She was looking for absolutely nothing when the art supplies shop jumped out and nearly smacked into her svelte being, or perhaps it was the other way around.

Nearly slamming into the smudgy glass shop door, the artist lackadaisically stepped inside. The smell of fresh canvas and acrylic paints brought Jane peace and tranquility similar to scented candles to the rich. Jane had chosen some tubes of paint and two fresh canvases to corrupt with her a vision when a glass shattering 'hello' collided into the fragile artist.

_Brittany_, groaned Jane within her mind. "Hey, Brittany," Jane greeted, cracking a half-ass smile of happiness at rekindling an awkward and superficial conversation with her old high school chum. "What are you doing here?"

Brittany rapidly strode to Jane until she was inside Jane's personal space. "I'm looking for supplies to make a gift basket for James," Brittany answered. Jane examined the fresh-faced blonde skeptically. Brittany, despite the squeak that erupted involuntarily or otherwise every other sentence – she had changed. This depressed Jane more.

Shaking her head to clear her wandering thoughts, she asked, "Whose James?" Jane snickered at the expected answer: football player, hockey player, her steady of the day.

"He's my fiancée!" Brittany chirped. Jane's eyes grew three sizes bigger rivaling, for sure, the Grinch's heart.

"F-f-f-fiancée," Jane stammered, her tongue swimming numb in her mouth. The BFAC student was close to dropping her art supplies when her reflexes kicked in, grasping tightly on to them at the last moment. "I thought – but I saw you at graduation . . ."

Gathering the idea Jane was trying to convey, Brittany politely cut in. "Jodie and Mack invited me. They felt Kevin and I should get closure. James was really supportive. I mean, Kevin was, like, my whole life. And, I don't want to look back and think poorly on it," Brittany finished, ceasing to stop from twirling her hair.

Jane was sure that any minute she would wake in her bed back at the Lane house. Yet, here she was having a rather pleasant conversation with someone she dubbed "the airhead cheerleader."

"Well, I have to go, I want to get home so I can assemble the basket just perfect. We're celebrating his birthday tonight, just us – then tomorrow with his and my family," Brittany informed, brushing past the stunned artist.

Jane gripped Brittany's arm, halting her from moving to the cashier. And while Jane would not normally be so brash the words seemed to zip from her lips before being able to go through baggage check for etiquette. "Are you – are you pregnant? Is that why you're getting married?"

"What?" Brittany gasped, mortification white washed on her paling complexion. Jane tried to articulate an explanation – an apology, but couldn't. "For your info, missy, James and I are not in the stage of our relationship or age to want kids, yet," she said pointedly. "Gawd, Jane, I though you of all people; since you're an artist and everything would be open and understanding that maybe two young people may go to the altar for other reasons than being knocked up. James and I are in love – true love!"

Jane's mind ticked at Brittany's free use of the word 'love.' For all Brittany did in high school was run rampant with any testosterone filled male, Kevin or not. Jane doubted Brittany knew what it meant to be in a monogamous relationship. Jane doubted even more that Brittany knew what the word 'monogamous' meant. However, standing in front of her was a furious ex-Lawndale cheerleader, ready to explode.

"People really do change, and not for the best. Hmph," Brittany ended, stomping over to the dazed cashier, in which she proceeded to vent to. This made Jane's check out experience rather uncomfortable as the well built and tough looking man helped Jane with her purchase, an air of disapproval wafting between the two.

Jane lagged to reach Trent's awaiting car. Sitting in the vehicle, Jane rested her hands lightly on the steering column. '_Have I really changed? Is Brittany for real, or have I finally snapped? Daria has changed, but what's to say that we wouldn't have drifted anyway? I mean, look how much Brittany has changed? Have I really changed?_

-Daria-

Even though Erin's suggestion was the least liked that Quinn had been gifted, it was the best. And so, Quinn waited patiently for Daria's schedule to come to a lull. It had taken three days, but on a cloudy Saturday afternoon, Quinn knocked on the guest bedroom – current residence of her sister – hoping Daria would answer. A muffled 'come in' called through the door. Quinn cautiously opened the door, half expecting Daria to be engaging in some illicit activity.

"What's up?" Daria asked, capping her lip gloss. The older Morgendorffer twisted in the vanity chair to face her sister. In a simple white tank top and low rise, blue jeans, Quinn looked stupefied at the conservative attire.

"Um, I wanted to know if I could share this with you," Quinn garbled, holding the dusty and attic tattered album. Daria eyed the album with discontent. Quinn held her breath, waiting for Daria's rejection, but was astounded when Daria shrugged her shoulders and hopped onto the bed. Quinn joined her sister moments later, opening to the page she wanted to showcase.

"As long as it isn't Pandora's box, I guess I'm okay with it," Daria smirked.

Quinn laughed nervously, the impulse to vomit becoming more precedent than it had mere seconds ago. The redhead exhaled long and miserably then pointed to the first picture.

Daria squinted her eyes to study the picture. It was a wedding picture of: the bride, the groom, the groomsmen, and the bridesmaids. "How come I didn't have the same dress?" Daria posed.

"You did!" Quinn replied harshly, retracting at her own tone. "Uh, the reason I'm showing you this is because I told everyone, meaning our own family relatives, that you were my cousin – then some family friend because saying you were my cousin still made you related to me. I . . . did that a lot, actually: school, parties, anywhere really . . . pretend we weren't related."

Quinn prepared for the berating that would be well deserved. It had taken her nearly six years to accept Daria and voicing the truth of her past embarrassment crushed the future Pepperhill student.

Daria scrunched up her face then spoke. "Well, I can understand how most believed we were not of immediate family. I mean, look at you then me. We look alien compared to each other. Plus, sisters are mean to each other. I'll admit that was more than brutal to an extent, but if I had her," Daria pointed at herself for clarification, "for a sister, I would concoct some excuse, even if rather translucent." Daria chuckled, "I must have been some loser that I didn't do anything to right your allegations, or that my friends did not stand up for me." Daria grew somber, "I guess Jane really wasn't my friend," Daria mumbled supposedly to herself, though Quinn heard the sullen remark, her perfectly shaped eyebrows wilting in response.

"So, you're not mad, or anything," Quinn questioned uneasily. "I thought, maybe, that because bad memories are more pungent, you might remember." Daria rolled her eyes, she should have known. "I was sure that this might evoke something."

"I can't remember it, so I'm looking at the incident or incidents from a third party perspective," Daria informed, resolutely. Quinn groaned, but continued her bumpy trip down memory lane. The anxious, younger sibling threw pride and humility to the wind and clawed apart any dignity she had plastered together. Quinn selected incidents of sibling abuse from small situations to large ones: Quinn's essay that landed her the temporary name of "Brain", her starring role in Daria's video documentary, the dance that Jane had molded that Quinn accepted credit for, her endless prying into Tom and Daria's relationship, and lastly, her continual need to attain constant parental attention at all cost (with the exception of academics, since Quinn believed she could not compare with her older sister).

Quinn stopped, having regurgitated her mindset and thinking, her inner most insecurity to her sister to the point that she could have jumped off the top of the Grand Canyon as Daria swiftly tucked and maneuvered into a passive appeasement of Quinn's diehard confessional monologue.

Daria blinked her eyes, vacant of sincerity and depth. It was similar to astronomers studying black holes, never ending and unreadable. "I'm sorry, Quinn. I don't remember anything. All I know is that we were competitive of our parents' affections, which you seemed to have surmount me in; furthermore, that you have the most hollow intelligence and self-esteem I have come across," Daria surmised exiting the bed and saddling her bag around her shoulders. "This was helpful, but I doubt in the way you propositioned in your mind. Wow, are you messed up?" Daria said with a malicious laugh, leaving Quinn in awe on the bed.

Quinn sat there in limbo between the rotten reality of her life and the nightmare of her daydreams. The distraught and mentally and physically broken girl, lost in time and truth, flashed her eyelids like a pictograph and stirred back to her senses. "Am I really messed up?"

-Daria-

The florescent lights of Cashman's beautifully accented the new fall collection. Theresa smiled, knowing her favorite customers had arrived. All four girls cheerfully and in their usual superior tone greeted the assistant manager.

Stacy Rowe had been nonchalantly perusing the skirts when the site of Quinn stopped her. Quinn was standing lifeless in front of one of the mirrors provided for _Junior 5_ customers. Disturbed by Quinn's immobility and vacant staring, Stacy crossed the room.

"Quinn, are you okay? You seem lost." When the ex-vice president was absent for a reply, Stacy began to panic. Pulling at one of her braids, the former secretary waited for her friend to snap out of her trance. Now, sucking in the bottom of her lip and still pulling at her one pigtail braid, the often jittery Stacy repeated her question. To her relief, Quinn finally answered, but not how Stacy wanted.

"No," Quinn replied adamantly. Stacy knew Quinn long enough, to not press her to supply information. Quinn would tell her when she was ready. Not too long after, Quinn sighed, "I tried everything, Stacy. I reenacted good memories and dove into horrible and humiliating memories that showed me at my worse, and still! Nothing happened. She hasn't been able to bring to fruition any memories! It's almost, like, she doesn't want to be resuscitated back to herself. The bottom line, I failed."

Quinn's self image was on life support. Empty of certainty and confidence, Stacy recognized it all because she had aimlessly wandered those same pathways when the Fashion Club disbanded. Stacy had, for once in her life, something worth saying that could help someone else. Unfortunately, Sandi and Tiffany came upon the scene long enough to overhear Quinn's self-loathing diatribe and ruined Stacy's moment. _Big surprise_.

"Quinn, I don't know what has happened to you recently, but I do know it is most disconcerting. While I acquiesced to viewing your community work with the less intelligent and such as a positive, your absolute aversion to fashion of any kind, and refusal of this blessing, which I feel was most gracious, involving your sister is deplorable."

Sandi was catching her breath, as normal, evaluating the damage she has instituted when Quinn's last nerve cell snapped into a beautifully, microscopic, explosion of neuro-fibers. An uncharacteristically chilly wind strummed through, both Tiffany and Stacy stepping back. A first happened, a developing demonstration from the percolating feud between two old friends, Stacy and Tiffany distinctly made defining decisions as to what side they supported. Stacy unconsciously stepped beside Quinn, solidifying her allegiance, once and for all. And, Tiffany, looked between the two, moved toward Sandi, shocking Quinn and Stacy, then meekly replied that she needed earrings and left. Answering the age old question the girls let linger in their mind: who did Tiffany really favor? She favored herself – in the sense of self-preservation.

"That's it, Sandi; I have had enough of you! I thought that when the Fashion Club was discontinued and placed into the retirement of school activities of Ms. Li's portfolio, you would let go of this obsession to belittle me . . . and Stacy . . . and Tiffany. I, for all intents purposes, have lost my sister to someone we had universally decided was juvenile! So, instead of seeing the pain and mourning I have irrefutably did not volunteer for, you stand there and burn me even more!"

Tiffany reappeared so quietly beside Stacy, the girl nearly jumped into the furious redhead's arms. Sandi, equally as red with anger, shook with fury. Then Sandi said the last thing Quinn thought she would ever hear. "I'm sorry, Quinn. But, did you perhaps think that my continual force of hand to try and make your matter sound positive was to distract you from the negative that you have been ingesting the last several weeks, Gawd. I know I am a bitch, but you are my friends."

If it wasn't the small, bubble-like reminder that if they fell back from the impact of Sandi's statement they would break the mirrors, all three girls would have freely accepted the invitation from their bodies to faint.

The quartet left Cashman's without purchasing anything, leaving a stunned Theresa. And, for the first time _ever_ they entreated into their initial plans when they closed down the Fashion Club – to be actual true friends. It was awkward, uncomfortable, and indescribable freedom to them.

Eating at the food court, anything but salad, Quinn surmised what everyone had thought, "So, you don't have a preference for support, Tiffany?"

"I have to choose sides all the time when my parents bicker over their raising of me at home. I didn't want to have to make that choice, so I just abstained."

Awestruck were the girls for two reasons: they had never been privy to Tiffany's home trouble, the girl was so reclusive, and Tiffany could incorporate words more difficult than the third grade level.

"I'm sorry," Quinn mumbled.

"I'm sorry, too," Sandi murmured.

They continued to talk when it reached an hour all decided was late. "It's so sad," Stacy whined.

"I know," Quinn said, taking the baton of thought from Stacy. "We finally reached that level of friendship we have wanted for over a year now, and in a month we will all be leaving for college. What then?" In usual habit, Stacy, Quinn, and Tiffany turned to Sandi.

Sandi waited then carefully spoke, like one giving her last orders in a losing battle. "Then I'm glad we leave on the best terms we could." Not the most encouraging, but the most appropriate.

Quinn looked away having been hit with some grand insight. _Maybe that is what is so wrong with this situation with Daria and me. We didn't leave on the best terms. And that is perhaps the worst part._

Stacy waited near her car, Tiffany had driven away already. The former secretary gave the former president and vice president their privacy.

"Quinn," Sandi started, "you're the first to stand up to me. Thanks."

Quinn wasn't sure why Sandi was giving her this gratitude, but nevertheless, she accepted it humbly. The two hugged as true friends and they left, moving in two very separate directions.

"What was that about?" Stacy queried when Quinn eased into the blue velvet colored cavalier sports car.

"Just a goodbye," Quinn answered softly, a sense of peace overtaking her.

-Daria-

Quinn had gone home and directly to bed, wishing not to attack her next obstacle 'til the next day. Sadly, the next day arrived promptly and Quinn had no excuses.

She was going to talk to Daria.

She needed to say goodbye.

Quinn found Daria late that evening watching TV. It wasn't _Sick Sad World_, but some reality series that Quinn had forgotten was still in existence. She knocked politely and waited until Daria gave permission prior to entering.

"I'm shocked to see you home," chortled the redhead. She delicately plopped at the foot of the bed.

Daria answered loftily, "Andy is working tonight. He's an EMT and so was called in," Daria continued to munch on some salt-free, butter free popcorn. She had taken measure to notice that Quinn was prepared for something – something big, and so the brunette sat up to give her better attention.

"Oh, you couldn't get a replacement," Quinn said, an undertone of bitterness not invisible to her sister's senses.

"If I did, it would be considered cheating, since he's my boyfriend," Daria smarted back. The elder sister could see the taunting comeback, but let it go since her sister apparently had, having never voiced it.

"I didn't come to start a fight, as nostalgic as it would be," Quinn began, and the swan song conceived from the saddest moments seems to palpitate into the room suddenly. "I wanted to say that this time – this whole summer – I thought that I was going to have spending with my friends and whisk through giddily. I was wrong," seeing Daria look insulted at the insinuation Quinn's plans had gone awry was her fault, Quinn quickly re-explained, "I mean, no offense, I was not prepared to be some prisoner within my own mind of self-esteem, and evicted from my place within my group." Quinn breathed, her emotions starting to best her as she began to well with tears, attracting an uncomfortable look from her sister.

"What I'm trying to say, I thought I knew who Quinn Morgendorffer was until your accident. When you changed I had to change, too. The thing is – I never really did have to change because I had already. Perhaps it was the weird murky gas that penetrates the school or the sameness of my environment, but I didn't recognize – better yet, I denied who I had become until I had no choice but to look into the mirror of reality."

Daria was concentrating so much that she could hear her brain groan in pain and tiredness to understand her sister's ramblings. "What?" she finally asked.

"I want to thank you for helping me understand that who I have become isn't as bad as I thought. That I can face what comes my way the way I am, and not as the Vice Preside of the Fashion Club . . . and that means coming to terms with who you have chosen to be."

At this turn, Daria could feel a vice squeakily turn and tighten around her heart. "I know this sounds asinine, but I accept this new sister. I know that you don't need my blessing to be you, but I need closure for the sister I lost. I will love you none the less and in all logical sense we have the same interests, so we should make good friends, but in truth, the old you was so unique that anyone with some brain function would want to be friends with you. You were like some infinitely rare diamond, you know?"

Daria was hugged unexpectedly by her sister, and when done so could hear in the faintest whisper 'I love you and will miss you forever'. A token given to someone that died. Daria snapped back from the distant, vacant mind of her thoughts to reality when Quinn closed the bedroom door. Feeling overwhelmed with loss for some reason, Daria decided that going to bed would be the best decision after such a peculiar conversation with her sister.

-Daria-

It was in the misty fog and celebrated pings of dripping water that Daria awoke to blackness indescribable to the human sensations. Wobbly rising, Daria gained her footing and uselessly looked about her surroundings. Nothing. "Hello?" A reverberation of her voice yelled back. Daria walked around, a white tunic her only clothing.

A sudden occurrence brightly illuminated in her mind – she couldn't see! "Hey! What happened to my sight?" She closed to her eyes to slits, trying to see _anything_. She could only see from one eye clearly, confusing the young woman even more.

"Hello?" A voice, all so familiar to Daria rang through the feather light air. Twirling about to connect the voice of Quinn to her; Daria felt the cool water tingle around her toes.

"Quinn!" Daria answered. The sudden _splish splash _of water could be heard hopping closer to the oldest Morgendorffer sibling.

The two sisters met in the middle of nowhere fifty yards apart. Nothing was a blockade to stop them, yet they each felt invisible strings tighten as they motioned to be closer. Puppets with an anonymous puppeteer.

"You cannot have your cake and eat it, too," articulated a sauve and dashing man, dressing in white slacks and blazer.

"I'm not a fan of desserts," Daria retorted, looking to step closer to her sister, both scared and alone. His dirty-blonde hair quaffed and cemented into place with layers of silver spritzed hairspray, he stepped to Daria's left. She growled in frustration at his games, his acuity in her peripheral vision gone.

"So, you have noticed?" he noted, the annoying bounce of mockery brushing against Daria's fleeting patience.

"What do you want?" Daria seethed. The brunette could hear her sister call to her over and over again. Her voice growing worried with each waving echo.

"Honestly, I know that the accident has taken much from you, but cannot you at least piece one and one together?" he toyed. To emphasize his point, he held one index finger from each hand up and when he had them touch, Daria's vision blinked into dazzling luminosity. She could see! But, just as quick as her vision was unhindered, it spooked into fuzziness. Like an old motion film, her vision flickered between clarity and blurriness.

"What kind of hellish, backwards dream is this?" Daria question, disgusted with the little progress she had made.

"Pick," he commanded with an unprepared brash.

Like timing the entrance into a jump rope game, she saw her sister running to her, without thinking, Daria lunged forward breaking the spider spindles that held her. Fumbling from the shock of having freed herself, Daria slid across the middle. In seconds, the Raft student deduced she and Quinn were gliding along the tops of her old eyeglass lenses. Reaching out to Quinn as they closed the gap, about to meet at the nose piece of the thick black frames, the glasses cracked into two equal pieces at the bridge and the girls fell into the pools of the crystalline lenses.

Daria snapped up as if electrocuted. Haphazardly reaching for her dainty, thin glasses she quickly jumbled them onto her face. She looked about the room, pinching her arm – yes! – she was no longer dreaming. She heaved deep breathes then in a swift motion threw up into the waste basket next to her bed.

~ End Chapter 6

**Thank you for reading. Please leave a review. They are greatly appreciated.**


	7. Chapter 7

June 1, 2011

**A/N: Well, this is it, ladies and gentleman! I had a wonderful time sharing this story and thank everyone who read and reviewed. Having readers submit feedback warms my heart. In a nutshell, Quinn's last and final attempt ended in . . . failure! She tried, she really did. Jane has an odd conversation that leads to her own insight with none other than Brittany! Last person I thought to incite insight. Quinn, with the help of her Fashion friends and a big maturity growth spurt came to a place of understanding, letting go of the sister that was gone. Very sad. Yet, don't let that stop you from reading the last chapter of 'If Nothing Else.' Enjoy!**

Chapter 7: If Nothing Else

Quinn was sitting upright in a flash, panting like an overwork sled dog. _The dream, it was so real,_ she recalled in panic. Tossing the blanket aside, she leapt from her bed and moved with agile quickness to the guest bedroom. Opening the door, she frowned. Daria was gone, the bed neatly made and everything just in its place as if never lived in. It was peculiar, but nowadays Quinn didn't question her sister's habits. She returned with the little comfort that her sister was safe and not free falling through deathly blackness like she had been traveling moments ago.

-Daria-

They had met in a small café off the free way that allowed them privacy from a town filled with friends, and even more so, acquaintances. Andy set two frothy, hot beverages between them before sliding into the booth. "Either I have to lose weight, or they need to invest in roomier seating," he jested.

Daria flashed a sympathetic smile, her eyes downcast in thought. Andy squirmed until he found a reasonably comfortable position then returned his attention to his girlfriend. Daria had not touched her coffee or even her danish. Andy starred at the items while Daria avoided contact. "You're breaking up with me, aren't you?" he blurted out to his own amazement.

"No – yes," she resolved. She liked Andy a lot. However, after the weird and insightful dream, Daria had made a decision to shed this bimbo persona she temporarily adopted for nearly the entire summer. Andy, sadly, had fallen for a girl she could no longer employ as herself. She couldn't be someone she wasn't, she had learned that when she had volunteered to read to senior citizens that one time in high school.

"I'm really sorry," she added, her voice had sunk into its monotone slant. Andy looked away at the growing line at the counter and the new customers selecting seats. It's as if they somehow knew that he and Daria needed their privacy as no one sat near them.

"Did I do something wrong? Is it the fact we are leaving for college in a few weeks?" Andy was restless. He could not find logical conclusions for her want to separate. They had already decided to visit, since they were only about forty-five to sixty minutes from each other. They were committed, and yet, here she was shattering his glass-stained heart into millions of fragments.

"No," Daria replied adamantly. She wanted to just leave it at that, but knew that Andy deserved more. So, against her wishes, she recollected her dream, going into vivid detail that only a writer would.

Andy listened until Daria came to conclude her story. "So, that is why you're breaking up with me?"

Daria glared, obviously peeved at his incredulously and apish tone. She didn't find her dream funny, or the situation she was dwelling in currently.

"Daria, I really don't want to break up. It doesn't sound like your core values changed, just perhaps your depth," shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, "and I could willingly get use to a little more depth and some shallow dipping into my wallet."

"What?" Daria snapped. "Why were you dating me, jerk, if you felt _I_ was lacking something?"

Putting up his hands defensively, Andy interjected, "Hold on, I didn't say that? Let me clarify, okay? I think you have a lot of intellect and I adore that because I could talk endlessly with you on all sorts of things, trivial to complex, but I always felt you were masking it. I know from experience and observation that expecting a person to change by your hand is foolish, but I was hoping that if I patiently waited this untapped potential of yours would blossom and I would be that guy to be there for that."

Daria eyed him carefully, and despite wanting to dump the still steaming cup of cappuccino on his lap, she considered her acts of the past weeks and him, as a person, and reasoned that he wasn't insulting her, but being honest.

"Not to mention," he continued, "I like you a lot, and yes, I'm rich – but that's my parents' money – not mine. So, all these expensive places I go with you are starting to really make a dent in the little savings I've accumulated."

Daria blushed, knowing that Andy wasn't exaggerating when he said that. He had treated her to many expensive outings, never asking any compensation fiscally or physically. It was silent again, then Daria sighed and made an offer she thought fair. "This is weird and consuming my mind. I need to attend to some things, first. But, if you're up for it, I would be willing to continue dating."

"You're a touch negotiator, but look who I'm talking to," he laughed, "brilliant daughter of Helen Morgendorffer, one of the most terrifying and vicious lawyers in Pennsylvania. You take care of what you need to. I'm here when you want or if you need some moral support. Just don't wait too long, I don't want you forget me." Andy smiled supportively at her then took a big gulp of his piping, hot beverage.

"I don't think that's possible," Daria chuckled. "Not with that quirky foam mustache you're fashioning."

-Daria-

Daria returned that afternoon feeling content with her talk with Andy. She retained her boyfriend, and with that also, she retained her want to understand and explore this new person. The Raft student sluggishly ascended the stairs toward her rooms. Standing in the middle of the hallway, Daria contemplated if she should go left into her old room or right into the guest bedroom.

-Daria-

Quinn was humming the tune to a new song she had listened to in her car when the opened door to Daria's room caught her attention. For weeks the room had been vacated by her sister, so who could be in the room, now? Surely, her parents weren't in there. With the utmost caution, Quinn approached the doorway. There, Daria sat in her swivel chair, staring into space. The professional writing major jumped when the wrapping of Quinn knocking rippled into the otherwise quiet room.

"Hey," Quinn greeted, also nervous, having watched Daria nearly fall out of the chair. "Are you okay?" She moved to the lumpy, old bed and sat down, her gaze never leaving her older sister.

"Um, yeah," Daria mumbled, she was chewing on her nail and knowing it was an unusual characteristic to show, she still couldn't stop from continuing to gnaw. "I'm just a little confused, that's all."

"Yeah," Quinn began loftily, "breaking up with someone can be hard." The sisters locked eyes, and the redhead immediately registered that Daria was curious to know how Quinn had found out. "I overheard you rehearsing your break-up in the bathroom."

Daria wanted to accuse her of eavesdropping, but she was sure that wasn't Quinn's intentions. "Uh, yeah, um, I didn't break-up with him. He convinced me that the relationship was worth 'giving the college try'," Daria snorted at her comment. She had been taking great interest in the carpet, moving side-to-side in the chair.

"Oh, well that's great, Daria," Quinn responded cheerily. She frowned, "You still seem upset."

Daria sighed, why did apologizing have to be so hard? Maybe, it was because it meant admitting you were wrong and serving yourself up for a complete shut out by the other person. _Great._

"I guess because last night I had a horrible dream, which afterward uncovered my memories," seeing the elated look of Quinn, Daria quickly elaborated, "Quinn, I don't have all my memories, and . . ."

"You aren't the same person, I know," Quinn finished, her lighted eyes settling back into dullness.

"Yes, but no, I remember the feelings from the memories, but I haven't lost the ones in between from the summer. So, right now it's like trying to mesh two people into one and I just feel lost and misshapen."

"I see," Quinn laughed; the irony of it all. She wanted to bring up that her, too, had a horrible dream, but thought her sister was inundated enough. "I'll let you go." She had reached the doorway when Daria stopped her.

"I'm sorry, Quinn. I treated you –"

"Like I treated you, we're even."

"No!" Daria forcefully reacted, shocking Quinn at how passionate she had become suddenly. "If you and I are constantly evening things between us, we will ensue a war that surpasses the one mom always participates in with Rita and Amy. I don't want us to be like that."

Quinn leaned against the frame and reviewed what Daria had said, her expression pensive. Quinn moved and hugged Daria tightly then retreated back to her spot. "Clean slate, starting now." Daria smiled those rare half smirks. Quinn left, but returned moments later. "You know, there is someone else who you _really_ should reconcile with," the Pepperhill student hinted.

"I know," Daria agreed. Quinn dismissed herself, leaving Daria to map out her next course of action . . . seeing Jane.

-Daria-

The door to the Lane house slowly revealed the second youngest inhabitant, Trent. "Uh, would you like to come in?" The question had a tone of uncertainty and sincerity that compelled Daria to trust her instinct that it was safe to enter. Daria was dressed in a patterned black and white, skin-tight t-shirt and jeans with gaping holes at the knees. She was donning her traditional army black boots. Daria clamored up the steps and when outside Jane's room her feet adhered to the floor with determination greater than her will.

She wished Jane had been bustling about power-drilling so that Daria may have an excuse to leave. Unfortunately, that was the very opposite. Jane was distantly painting, peacefully in her own cave.

'_I could turn around now and save everyone the pain of trudging through this unwanted kamikaze mission.' _Daria nodded her head in agreement then shook her head. _'I have to apologize, at least. Jane deserves that much.'_

Daria knocked on the door lightly, wishing that Jane would have loss her hearing and for that matter, her sight, as well. But, she didn't. Jane lifted her concentration from her painting to Daria. "Hey," she answered lowly.

"We need to talk," Daria said flatly.

"Oh," Jane mused, her tone sour and spiced with hurt.

Daria began thinking of more painful scenarios that she would happily accept rather than face Jane. The best friends paused and took into account the others' presence. The down-and-out artist put aside her paints and crossed her arms. They knew what had to be done, yet neither could place themselves to start the conversation.

Daria groaned. "I'm sorry," she blurted out.

_Typical cut-to-the-chase Daria,_ Jane thought. "I know," Jane replied. Daria moved to the computer desk and leaned against it for support, both physical and moral.

Jane grazed the paint spattered carpet with her socks. It was unsettlingly quiet. "So, what now?" Jane posed. The question didn't require further elaboration; Daria knew what Jane was insinuating.

"I'm not sure. I – we can't go back to how things had been. I'm still trying to figure myself out . . . again." Daria could feel herself want to cry. The Raft student hadn't thought much of the affects of the accident until standing in Jane's room and understanding that as a result of the vehicle collision her friendship had been vaporized. For a split second she wanted to yell at the man who had incited the car crash and commenced the series of events that led up to this moment. But, Daria knew she had no way of contacting him – he died in the car crash. What was the point? She couldn't yell at the others, for they were victims, too. So, nearly two months later and she was facing the possibility of losing her only best friend.

_In Campbell's theory, of any story, the main character must cross a threshold that his action taken there would undeniably lay the brick path to the resolution. _ Daria was struck by the words of her sister, a resource she was surprised to have called upon. _Clean Slate_.

Daria stretched her hand out. Jane scrutinized the suspicious gesture, but complied anyway. "Hi, I'm Daria. I relocated here a few years ago. I'm attending Raft as a professional writing major."

Jane chortled, the moment was priceless. Shaking Daria's hand fervently, she corresponded," I'm Jane Lane, _the_ Jane Lane, to be exact. I'm also a starving artist at BFAC. What a coincidence that we live in practically the same college town."

"Yeah."

"Do you like pizza?" Jane queried. By now, the artist had picked up her brush and palate.

"Yeah, the greaser the better," Daria remarked.

"Okay then, chica. If our schedules click maybe we could grab a slice." There was a twinkle in Jane's eyes that gave the illusion of crying . . . or maybe it was the other way around.

"Jane Lane, you got yourself a deal." The two friends took in one more second of remembrance then Daria left. No goodbyes, nothing more.

Outside Jane's room, Daria nearly slammed into Trent. The musician chuckled at the shades of red that Daria illuminated having almost made physical contact with an old crush. Trent stuck out his hand nonchalantly. "Hey, I'm Jane's older brother, Trent." When Daria hesitated, Trent smirked, "It's clean."

Daria nodded and accepted the proffered hand. "Hi." Again, nothing more was spoken and Daria moved to leave Casa Lane. Watching her descend the steps, Trent could hear his sister, Jane, strike up her music to absurd volume levels, a sign that things were looking better.

"I knew you could do it," Trent commented aloud to himself. He shuffled to his bedroom, prepared to sleep the day away.

-Daria-

Jane waited with her pizza and soda patiently. Having skipped breakfast, the artist was finding it harder to refrain from devouring her food. She was relieved to finally spot her company enter _Angelo's Pizza Parlor_ and step in line to order food. It was only a few more minutes when the BFAC graduate was joined at the booth.

"Wow, no cheese-less pizza?" Jane copped, finding her playful jab laughable. Quinn also laughed and eased into the booth. Quinn adjusted her thin framed glasses before taking a sip of her drink. The redhead had been discovered to have diminishing eyesight as of two years prior. At first the news was difficult to accept until Quinn realized that if she changed her perspective the glasses she needed to see distance would be thought as another accessory to compliment her outfits.

"It isn't pizza if it's cheese-less," Quinn sassed back, a friendly smile playing on her lips. Satisfied with the insults exchanged Jane took a large bite of her pepperoni slice. They quietly sat for a little, eating their food and sipping from their respective drinks. After finishing one piece, both women returned to the counter for a second helping.

Quinn checked her watch when they retreated to their seats. "We have about two hours before we have to be at the football stadium, we have time." Jane didn't ask, but assumed the statement was more for Quinn than herself.

"Do you think she would even notice if we neglected to attend?" Jane asked, munching mightily on her pizza. Quinn shrugged then thought more on the question.

"Yeah, plus we sat through yours."

"That's irrelevant since I went to Boston Fine Arts College. I'm an artist, and artists don't give a crap about formalities like graduation ceremonies. BFAC was finished with ceremonies early."

Quinn shot her friend a pointed look, before downing the rest of her beverage. "I'm full. Do you want to do some shopping?"

It was Jane's turn to give Quinn the same look. She sighed, "Hell, why not?"

As they moved through the rows of patrons and disposed of their trash, the women were greeted by the bright sunlight of the breezy May weather in Boston. They perused in and out of shops, lightly chatting.

Leaving a perfume boutique where Quinn had purchased some foreign fragrance, Jane shuffled beside her. "How are you and Stacy getting along in your new apartment?" Jane broached.

"We're doing great, but the apartment needs a lot of work, though," Quinn lamented. "The offer is still open to volunteer with decorating."

"Artistic Integrity," Jane answered flatly, steering them into a small art gallery.

"Oh come on, you're still upset because I shot down your idea? Sorry for not wanting my place to look like the game _Twister_," Quinn huffed. They stopped to gaze at an abstract painting when Quinn had a sparkling proposition. "Twenty-five buck, I'll pay you."

"A hundred," Jane countered. She wasn't naïve. She had picked up a few things having played this game before, and watching Helen.

Quinn squared her eyes to full glare power toward her friend, "Seventy-five."

"Fifty and lunch," Jane volleyed back with sophisticated smoothness.

Folding her hands over her chest, Quinn stopped so Jane's attention was refocused on to her. "Deal," she gritted, "But, I'll have you know Daria did it for free."

"College has softened her. It's a pity," Jane smirked. Quinn faltered, smiling, too. "Speaking of which, we should leave if we want to meet your folks," Jane reminded Quinn.

Jane and Daria repaired – rebuilt – their friendship from scratch. It wasn't the same, but they had accepted the conditions when they shook hands that fateful day three years ago. Quinn had attended Pepperhill College, only to return home the following year with the want to transfer closer to home. She and Stacy now shared an appointment her senior year.

Life may not have followed the course they wanted, but _if nothing else_ they had each other.

~ End If Nothing Else

**I hope everyone liked this last installment. I worked hard to make it feel like a 'Daria' ending. Please, please review. I would truly appreciate the feedback. Thanks again.**


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